


The Tides of Alamar

by Lithophene



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-03-03 09:45:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 29,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2846567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lithophene/pseuds/Lithophene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From harbored apostate to Herald of Andraste. It's a lot to swallow for a man born amidst harshness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prelude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the sake of tagging, I've got this referring to my Inquisitor as a Trevelyan, but I took some liberties with the human origin mostly 'cause I'm really interested in exploring a character from Alamar. The fact there's almost nothing about it just makes it all the more fun! One thing about my Inquisitor before I leave you be: He's got a bit of an accent. Not enough to have me write a completely different dialect for him, but enough for him to eat his g's. Now featuring art by the lovely elmroko @ tumblr until I get a poster done. I suppose it's a glimpse at later chapters~

Dederick remembered the moment he reached out with his marked hand, praying to any god that would listen for his attempt at stopping all of _this_ to work, when a sharp pain washed over him. It was unlike anything he’d ever felt before, and it swallowed him whole into a darkness that didn’t want to break.

When he finally stirs, it’s because of the dull pulse ebbing from his hand. With a groan, he forces his eyelids to open before bringing up his hand to stare at the eerie green light shining from the mark on his palm. Though it no longer hurts, it makes him feel sick. He clutches at the sheets covering his body when he feels a wave of nausea. The mark’s magic isn’t his, and he can _feel_ it like the cold sweats of a fever, but he can’t let it weigh him down. But… where is he?

The dull crackle of a log fire fills the small cabin. It’s warm, and he’s in a bed, covered and… safe. He’s safe. Maker, that’s a relief. Does that mean that he succeeded? There’s no shackles on him or chains. It doesn’t like he’s being held as a prisoner any more. Judging by the smell of herbs and elfroot, he was likely being treated as a patient. A few rays of sunlight creep in through the small cabin windows. It’s still light out.

Sitting up, he realizes just how stiff his body is. “Maker… how long was I out?”

“Oh!” A sudden gasp startles him, and he almost brings up a magical barrier to defend himself when he spots an elven servant. The poor girl dropped the crate she was carrying when she spotted him. “I-I didn’t know you were awake, I swear!”

Dederick slouches slightly as he lets his hackles drop, “It’s fine. I’m just –”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence before she drops to her knees and bows her head to him. “I beg your forgiveness and your blessing. I am but a humble servant.”

“I don’t understand.” He frowns before scratching at the scruff on his chin. He better start off with simple questions.

He was out for three days, he finds out. Three days after his attempt to seal the Breach brought him to the brink of death, apparently. That explains why he feels as sodding awful as he does, but all he’d managed to do was stop it from growing. The servant girl scampered off shortly after answering his questions as best she could, leaving him alone with his thoughts. Maker, how’d he wind up here? He sighs loudly before standing up. Best get to it.

He strips from the clothes he’d been dressed in before wandering over to chest storing all his belongings, meticulously putting on the layers of his armor. The relief he feels from being in his own clothes is a welcome change. He grabs an apple from the bowl placed on the nightstand by the bed and holds it with his teeth while he steps toward the exit, leaning his staff against the wall before slicking his hair back with his hands and fastening it in place with his ragged headband. He takes a gleeful bite out of the apple once he’s done, grabs his bladed staff, and opens the door to make his way and find the Chantry.

He damn near chokes when he sees the flock of people suddenly turn to face him.

He swallows nervously as the crowd starts to talk, all loudly clamoring about… well. Him. Thinking it best, he decides to leave his staff in the cabin before stepping into the fray. They call him the Herald of Andraste, and it only manages to make him all the more confused about his current predicament, but he nods at them as they give him their thanks. Of course, not all of the comments were… savory. There were more than a few murmurs about his magic, none sounding too pleased.

“How can the Herald of Andraste be a mage?” One man asks loudly.

The words unnerve him, and he balls his gloves hands into fists. Back in Alamar, he’d never had to worry about his magic. The people accepted what he was, they looked to him for protection, even if some of them feared him. The few Templars stationed there averted their eyes. Circumstances favored him, and he was fortunate. Here though? The scrutiny’s almost tangible, and he’s not sure what he should do. He keeps his head down until he enters the walls of the chantry, and he’s glad to at least have some distance between the crowds and himself.

The peace he feels doesn’t last long. Muffled voices arguing echo throughout the lofty halls of the chantry, drowning out his footsteps as he approaches the room in question. Just as he’s about to go in, he hesitates and stops to listen in on the argument with an ear pressed to the door. He can feel his blood chill when he realizes they’re arguing about him. He takes a deep breath and steels himself before opening the door and joining the commotion.

“Chain him! I want him prepared for travel to the capital for trial.” Dederick feels a flare of panic when he realizes there are two Templars stationed at both sides of the door.

Cassandra’s eyes lock with his before she addresses the guards, “Disregard that, and leave us.”

Dederick feels himself relax once the Templars clear out of the room and hangs back while Cassandra and… Leliana, he thinks he remembers her name being, dealt with the chancellor. The feeling doesn’t last. The seeker reformed the Inquisition right before his eyes, and asked him to pledge himself to their cause, even if it’s only to protect him from those who would seek to harm him. Even if he wanted to object, he doesn’t really have much of a choice. He agrees to help.

Cassandra lets out a hefty sigh before turning to address him once more. “It is good to see that you are up, but how are you feeling?”

Dederick rolls his shoulder in consideration, “Dreadful, if I’m bein’ honest.”

“I must insist you rest if you do not feel –“

“No,” Dederick cuts her off. “I’ve spent three days restin’. I’d rather be on my feet doin’ somethin’.”

The seeker’s brows arc upwards for half a second before she nods at him, “Very well. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must gather the other advisors before we can begin our meeting.”

With those words, the seeker stepped out, leaving Dederick alone under the piercing gaze of Leliana. He hides his grimace when he realizes that she’s studying him. Rather than stand around waiting for Cassandra to return with company, he gazes over at the large table and blinks when he spots the map hastily placed atop it. Without realizing, he steps closer and peers down at the map. His eyes stop on Alamar. If word of him spreads beyond Haven, how is he supposed to – No. Better not to think about it.

Cassandra’s voice startles him when she returns with two figures in tow. “It occurs to me that I do not know your name. If we are to have introductions, perhaps you should start us off.”

Dederick blinks as he watches the trio situate themselves around the table. His eyes instinctively stop on the armored man the seeker brought with her, and he feels himself straighten his posture once he realizes he’s seen that armor before. The last time he saw him, they were fighting side by side to seal a rift. A faint smile graces the man’s lips, and Dederick feels himself falter. No commander should be that attractive without his helm. “At ease, soldier. I was under the impression you were a mage.”

“I am.” Dederick can’t help but huff out a laugh when the other man mumbles a quiet ‘oh’. “Not all of us hail from the Circle. My magic bloomed a little late. By the time it did, I was already trainin’ as a warrior. My name is Dederick Elsworth.”

“Elsworth?” Leliana asks, recognition lacing her voice, “As in the Elsworth of Alamar?”

“Aye.”

“And what is your relation to them?”

Dederick bites his lower lip and looks away before sighing in defeat. There’s no point in hiding it. “First son of Bann Roderick Elsworth, eldest of three.”

“That… may complicate things.” The lady laced in golden attire speaks up then before jotting something down in her ledger.

“Aye, I suppose it would to those outside of Alamar, but the people knew of me.” His eyes hardened as he looked between all four of them, “I protected them. Not all held me in the best of lights, but they bit their tongues. At least in front of me. I served alongside the guardsmen, protectin’ our people from raiders and pirates – no one else would. I’ve been fightin’ since I was old enough to wield a sword proper.”

He sighs before looking down at the map again and traces a finger around the outline of Alamar. “If… If I must abandon my namesake like the chantry demands of mages to serve, then I’ll do it.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Cassandra speaks up, gazing at him with a softness he didn’t expect, “But your willingness to sacrifice has been noted, your lordship.”

Dederick groans slightly, “Do we need the title? I hardly lived the life of a noble.”

“You are a lord. We will present you as such, regardless of your status as a mage, but that is a topic for another time.” Cassandra makes to direct his attention back to the others, “You’ve met Commander Cullen, leader of the Inquisition’s forces.”

Cullen nods at him in greeting, “It was only for a moment on the field. I’m pleased you survived.”

Dederick can’t hide his smile, “And I you, Commander.”

“This is Lady Josephine Montilyet, our ambassador and chief diplomat.” Cassandra continues with her introductions.

“I’ve heard much.” The ambassador gives him a small curtsey, “It is a pleasure to meet you at last.”

“And of course you know of Sister Leliana.” Cassandra gestures toward her, “She is our spymaster.”

“Yes...” Leliana makes a face, “Tactfully put, Cassandra.”

Once introductions were out of the way, they got to the matter at hand: they needed power to fuel the mark in order to attempt sealing the Breach. Sister Leliana and Cassandra suggested they seek out the rebel mages’ assistance while Commander Cullen insisted they seek the aid of the Templars to suppress the magic of the breach and weaken it, but… as Leliana had said, it was pure speculation. Both options were viable, but they would only be able to seek out one of the factions for aid. Such is the price of war.

“Unfortunately,” Josephine chimes in after some time, “Neither group will even speak to us yet.The Chantry has denounced the Inquisition –“ Her eyes turn to him, “And you, specifically.”

“What?” Dederick asks before he can stop himself, “They still think I had somethin’ to do with all of this?”

The ambassador hums slightly, “That is not the entirety of it any longer. Some are calling you – a mage – the ‘Herald of Andraste.’ And that frightens the Chantry. The remaining clerics have declared it blasphemy, and we heretics for harboring you.”

Cassandra sighs from his side, “Chancellor Roderick’s doing, no doubt.”

“It limits out options. Approaching the mages or Templars for help is currently out of the question.”

Dederick brings up a gloved hand to rub at his temples, only to notice that even through the leather, slivers of green light managed to escape. “Just how am I the ‘Herald of Andraste’?”

“People saw what you did at the temple, how you stopped the Breach from growing.” Cassandra explains, “They have also heard of the woman seen in the rift when we first found you. They believe that was Andraste.”

“Even if we tried to stop that view from spreading-“ Leliana chimes in.

“Which we have not.”

“The point is everyone is talking about you.”

Dederick feels a chill run down his spine. “Everyone?”

Leliana nods at him, but Cullen is the one to speak up, “It’s quite the title, isn’t it? How do you feel about that?”

“I…” Dederick hesistates. He hasn’t really had the proper time to stomach all of what he’s been told. Titles have never something he’s been comfortable with, even one as simple as ‘lord’. This one was something completely different altogether. It’s weighed down by hope and admiration, two things he’s not particularly accustomed to. “It’s a heavy title. A bit unnervin’, to be honest, but how I feel about it doesn’t really matter, does it?” Dederick murmurs to himself before leaning forward to place his hands on the table and glancing at the others, “What can I do to help?”

Leliana explains to him the situation regarding a chantry cleric named Mother Giselle. Unlike the other members of the Chantry, she actually sought to speak to him. Or, rather she sought to speak with the Herald. He was never a very religious person. When he was younger, he would attend the Chantry services, but once his magic bloomed… it was hard to pray among the Faithful. One of the earliest lessons he learned was that while he may have been accepted for what he was, he was hardly loved for it. The tales of the mage boy from Redcliffe that got possessed only made people fear him more, but they never said anything to his face.

This is his opportunity to prove them wrong, to prove to all of Thedas and his people that mages are not tyrants. The Maker gave him this gift. If he had to accept the role as the Herald of Andraste to change things, then he’ll do it. He thanks the council for their advice before excusing himself to try making himself useful around Haven. He shuts the door behind him but stops after a few steps, curiosity willing him to do something stupid. Something very stupid. He sneaks to the door as quietly as his armor allows and presses his ear to the door to listen to the chatter in his absence.

_“Our Herald is a curious one, isn’t he?”_ Leliana muses aloud. _“I haven’t met a mage like him since the Hero of Ferelden. The minstrels will adore him. The Herald of Andraste, a mage, leading from the front lines? The stories they’ll spin.”_ She pauses. _“He’s quite handsome, wouldn’t you agree, Josie? He’s got those wavy locks of hair you so admire.”_

_“Leliana.”_ Josephine stammers, mortified.

_“Oh, hush. He seems worn by battle, but his compassion hardly seems touched.”_ Dederick starts to push himself away but stops when he hears Leliana’s following question. _“What do you make of him, Commander_?” He presses closer to the door.

_“He seems a good man and fights like a warrior. I can only imagine he’s got the honor of one.”_

A flush rises up his neck. He really shouldn’t be listening to this. He mentally smacks himself before creeping away from the door and scolds himself for even doing that, but… the commander’s compliment drives away his shame and brings the faintest smile to his lips before he opens the chantry doors to meet the challenges the day had to offer.


	2. Lakeside

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know about you guys, but I loved the spell wisp from Origins. Such an adorable thing.

It’s a quiet night. All the commotion from the early morning drained away as daylight trickled off into the horizon. By the time night fell upon them, Haven went back to sounding like any other town, something Dederick was more than glad for.

He lets out a lofty sigh as he lets his feet hang off the rickety pier looming over the frozen lake on the outskirts of the town. Lady Cassandra had ordered him to rest, but… it’s not like really can. Some of the guards looked like they wanted to say something about him leaving so late into the night, but thankfully they didn’t. He’s not sure he would’ve been able to get some sleep. Not when he’s got _that_ staring right at him.

Tearing clear though the clouds is the Breach, a bright shade of green casting off a sickly hue in the night sky that seems to bounce off of just about everything. Even if he wanted to pretend it wasn’t there he just couldn’t. He rubs at his temples before yanking off his gauntlet and staring at the pulsing mark on his hand. It doesn’t hurt anymore, but it still feels odd. Almost like a parasite, it’s magic that’s not quiet his own, but… he can feel it trickling into him. Were you a bit younger, he’d be inclined to try experimenting with the foreign magic, but he’s got people relying on him now. Can’t risk blowing himself up just to sate his curiosity.

Solas had been surprised, but likewise he had advised against meddling with something neither of them really understood. The elf was a curious one. He’d made a mental note to bring him along on their trek to the Hinterlands the next day, if only to have an excuse to bother the other mage for his knowledge on the Fade. Dederick’s a bit ashamed to admit it, but… he hardly knows much beyond the basics when it comes to the arcane. He wasn’t raised in the Circle, after all. He figures that’s enough to excuse him for now. After all, most of what he knows, he’s learned from trial and error. That and some curious wisps.

Dederick huffs out a laugh at the memory. Solas had mentioned the magic of the breach scared away most spirits, but he wonders… maybe he can still summon them. He swirls his hand in a circular motion until the familiar glow of faint green magic encompassed his hand and out came a small wisp, momentarily dazed before bouncing around him in circles.

“Didn’t think that’d work with the Breach so close!” Dederick grins at the wispling before feigning a small frown, “Where’s your friend? Is he not joinin’ us tonight?”

The wisp darts to his hand and circles it a few times before a second wisp tentatively pokes half-way through, drawing a laugh out of Dederick. “Aw, c’mon now, don’t be shy. I’ll keep you safe.” It takes a bit of coaxing, but the second wisp eventually comes out and joins the first in circling him and nudging him from both sides. “Miss me, did you? Bet you were wonderin’ where I was these last few days. Sorry about that.”

He spends the next few minutes regaling the curious little things about everything that’s happened, about the Breach, about the Inquisition, about all the interesting people he’s met. When he mentions the commander, one of them nudges him and earns a prompt ‘shut it’ from him before he goes on to tell them that they’re calling him the Herald of Andraste and about the mark on his hands. Pesky as they are, they nudge his hand to see just what it is that he’s got.

“Careful,” He warns, “We don’t really know what it can do.“ Of course, the sodding little things don’t listen to him and prod at the mark anyways. He winces when it suddenly pulses and flashes so brightly he has to look away. His hand burns when he finally turns to look at it again, but there’s no trace of his friends.

“Wh-“ He stammers out, confused, before beginning to panic. “Oh, Maker, no!”

He doesn’t notice the commotion forming by the gates in his hurry to try casting the spell. The portal opens and he stares at it, waiting for the wisps to come out. With each second that passes, he can feel his dread mounting in his stomach. Oh, Maker. What did he do? Just as he feels himself ready to heave, the two wisps bound through the portal looking as though they’d just had the ride of their lives.

“Andraste’s flamin’ knickers, don’t fuckin’ do that again, you hear me?” Dederick barks out which only seems to amuse the wisps further.

“Herald!”

Dederick looks over his shoulder to spot Commander Cullen and a small handful of soldiers fast approaching with their swords drawn. The wisps huddle behind him as he brings himself to stand to face them.

“Somethin’ the matter, Commander?” Dederick brings his hands up in surrender. He tilts his head slightly when he sees the way some of the men hold their swords.

“Our troops reported seeing strange lights by the lake. I take it that was you?”

“Aye.”

Cullen sighs before sheathing his sword. “Back to your posts.” He orders behind him before his eyes turn to study Dederick.

The troops murmur their complaints before putting away their weapons and wandering back to the camp, leaving Dederick alone with the commander. Cullen shifts to rest his arm against the pommel of his blade. “You shouldn’t be out here alone.”

“And your men should wield their swords proper.” Dederick counters.

“What?”

“Sorry.” Dederick smirks slightly. “I thought we were statin’ the obvious.”

Sensing no further threat, Dederick turns to face the breach once again and folds his arms across his chest. It’s then that the small wisps deem it safe enough to come out of hiding and slowly creep up to his shoulders. The sound of a sword starting to leave its scabbard prompts him to look over his shoulder, blue eyes narrowing at Cullen. “Easy, Commander. I trust an ex-Templar like yourself can tell the difference between a demon and a benign spirit, aye?”

The air is tense for a moment while blue eyes locked with hazel, and the poor wisps start to cower behind the safety Dederick offered before Cullen takes a deep breath and lets his sword fall slack into its scabbard. “Of course.”

“Good.” Dederick’s eyes soften and he flashes him a smile before looking forward again. “I swear to Andraste herself, if you’d called them demons, I would’ve smacked you upside the head, Commander. Rank or no rank.” He crinkles his nose, “And I’m her Herald, apparently, so that would’ve been double the scoldin’.”

Cullen makes a little noise and Dedericks looks to find him smiling as he made to stand beside him. “I take it you’ve accepted the title then.”

“I suppose,” He shrugs his shoulders slightly, “I mean…” His voice drops nearly to a whisper, prompting the wisps to whirl closer and nudge him, “It could be true.”

“I take it you know these wisps?”

“Aye,” He grins a little, “Spirits don’t have names, but wisps are curious li’l things so I called them Rascal and Shimmer. Known them since I was a boy.”

“Rascal?” Cullen asks, tilting his head a bit.

“Shouldn’t have asked.” Dederick says expectantly.

As if on cue, Rascal darts from his shoulder and spirals around Cullen a few times before starting to tug on fur of his mantle and dodging Cullen’s attempts to swat it away. Cullen looks to him after a few seconds, seeming absolutely exasperated and he can’t help but laugh. Dederick steps closer to him before swatting Rascal away and blinks when the wisp backs off right away. _Oh, you li’l runt. Did that on purpose, did you?_ He hovers over his shoulder and that’s enough confirmation for him.

Dederick looks Cullen over; he’s a little disheveled now. “Can’t have our Commander lookin’ out of order, can we?” He makes to readjust Cullen’s mantle before the other man can protest and claps his hands on his shoulders once he’s done. “There, fit and proper.”

It’s hard to tell under the darkness of the night, but… Cullen’s looking a little red in the ears. “I, ah – Thank you.” He clears his throat before resuming his old stance, “Dare I ask about the other’s name?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Dederick waits a few seconds before continuing, “He glows!”

Cullen doesn’t laugh like he’d hoped, but he smiles. “We should get you back, Herald.”

Dederick groans before taking a step back, “Alright. But please, unless it’s necessary, just call me Dederick.” He shivers slightly before sending the wisps off with a curt farewell and starts walking back to Haven, “Don’t like titles much.”

Cullen nods and follows behind him, “And yet you call me Commander.”

“Well, you are the Commander of the Inquisition’s forces.”

“And you are the Herald of Andraste.”

Dederick can hear the smirk in his voice and glances over his shoulder, “Fine. I don’t like titles for myself, but point taken, _Cullen._ ”

He stresses his name for emphasis, and… he realizes with a shaky breath that he likes the way it sounds rolling off his tongue.


	3. Foundations

Dederick barely manages to stifle a yawn as he steps out of his cabin into the light chill of dawn. Lady Cassandra herself woke him up with a knock on his door not ten minutes before, inviting him to discuss their planned journey to the Hinterlands over breakfast at the tavern. He stretches lightly after shutting the door behind him, and nods his greeting to the few stragglers miserable enough to be awake this early in the morning.

He groans lightly at the thought and mentally smacks himself. Maker, he was a member of the guard. He should be used to this. Biting back another yawn, he starts toward the tavern before stopping by the cobble steps leading out of the town’s gates. He purses his lips together for a moment, wondering if it’s even worth bothering to check if the Commander was already up and about. The sun was just barely starting to peek over the horizon, after all.

It wouldn’t hurt to check. The seeker could wait a few more minutes. With his mind made up, he clambers down the steps to find the camp still largely asleep. Cullen, though, was hard not to spot, especially with that fur mantle of his.

“Mornin’, Commander.” Dederick drawls out groggily as he steps toward the weapon rack Cullen was inspecting.

“Are we back at this so soon?” Cullen chuckles before turning to face him, a smile on his lips, “Good morning, Herald.”

Dederick scowls, “No, but right now, watchin’ over your men, you’re the Commander, Commander.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Cullen nods before Culenn stares at him almost scrutinizing, “You’re not wearing your armor.” He states.

“What?” He looks down at himself before glancing back up at Cullen. He was wearing his civvies: just some plain leather boots, tan breeches, a dark blue tunic with some slight silver embroidery and a thick leather belt strapped loosely around his stomach. He’s not really sure if his headband counts, considering he’s got it on almost always. “Should I be donnin’ my armor at all times? I don’t sleep in it, you know.”

“I – that’s not what I meant.”

“Do you sleep in yours?”

“Of course not.”

“Well, there you go.” Dederick offers him a sheepish grin before he considers what Cullen meant. “Is it that strange to see me like this?”

Cullen huffs a little, looking a bit embarrassed. “The Inquisition is still young, and with things being as volatile as they are, I fear there may be attempts on your life.”

“Oh.” Dederick frowns and scratches at the fuzz on his cheek idly while stepping toward the weapon rack, “I suppose I shouldn’t have cozied up to the idea of being safe as an apostate.” He grabs one of the swords and gets a feel for its weight before flourishing it a few times, “Freshly made.” He notes. These must be the blades that they needed supplies for. He’ll have to give Harritt his complements later.

Cullen’s face is largely unreadable when he speaks again, “Was there something you needed?”

Dededrick smiles before gingerly retuning the blade to its spot, “Are you busy, Commander?”

“Not… at the moment, no.” Cullen tilts his head a bit, looking both curious and suspicious. “Why?”

“Lady Cassandra invited me to discuss our plans for today’s trip to the Hinterlands over breakfast. I figured I’d extend the invitation to you as well, Commander.”

“Ah.” Cullen mulls it over for a few seconds before answering. “I don’t know. We’ve received a number of recruits – locals from Haven and some pilgrims. They need the training. None made _quite_ the entrance you did.”

“Believe me, I didn’t intend for that.”

Cullen laughs, “I’d be worried if you did, but…”

“But nothin’. You’re tryin’ to tell me your trainin’ regimen can’t wait a half hour?”

Cullen brings his hands up in surrender, “Maker, if you aren’t stubborn. Alright. I’ll be but a minute.” He turns to enter one of the larger tents.

“Stubborn’s the word you’re lookin’ for, Commander.” Dederick calls out to his back, only to have Cullen wave an armored hand at him from behind. He can’t help but snigger at that and turns to look at the camp more closely. Cullen was right. There were more tents than he’d actually cared to notice before. More tents meant more people, though, and as he stood waiting, more and more started waking up. It doesn’t take long for the murmurs to start up with the recruits eyeing him. _Him_ , the Herald of Andraste. Suddenly he wishes he had his armor.

“Alright.” Cullen says somewhere behind him, “Lead the way, Herald.”

Dederick looks over his shoulder at him and tries to smile but fails, “With pleasure.” He mutters.

Cullen looks about ready to ask what’s wrong before Dederick starts walking, if only to manage avoiding the eyes and words of the curious. It doesn’t take long to reach the Tavern, and the waft of spiced meats and herbs is a welcome scent to greet. He can feel himself unwind a little once he’s inside the small, cozy building. He stops at the entrance to just revel in the smells for just a few seconds before making his way over to where Cassandra sat.

“Ah, there you are.” Cassandra waves him over but raises her brows when she spots Cullen over his shoulder. “Commander Cullen, I’m surprised to find you joining us.”

“Our Herald can be quite persuasive,” Cullen quips as they take their seats at the table.

“Stubborn.” Dederick corrects while propping his elbows on the table, “That’s what he means to say.”

“Oh?” Cassandra asks, glancing to Cullen for a confirmation only to have him look away.

“Don’t grow up fightin’ raiders and bandits without getting’ a li’l stubborn.” Dederick grins at the two of them as though he were proud of the fact, which he is, he figures.

“I was meaning to ask you –“ A loud gasp interrupts Cassandra and draws all their attention.

“Oh, Maker.“ The young barmaid looks awestruck while she stares at Dederick, trying to catch a glimpse of the mark hidden under a glove. “You’re him. You’re the Herald of Andraste.” She fidgets with her hands as she looks him and down as though remembering something, “And you were sent to show us we were wrong to be afraid of the mages. I have always respected magic!” She says a little too gladly, “I think the Maker blessed your rebellion and…” She finally seems to notice the looks the three of them are giving her and clears her throat, “I mean, I’m Flissa. Can I get you all something to eat and drink?”

Dederick gives her as charming a smile as he can manage, “That’d be lovely, Flissa, and please, relax. I’m just a man.”

“Of course, right away, your lordship!”

Once she’s gone off into one of the back rooms, Dederick lets the mask drop and gives Cassandra an exasperated look, “I’m goin’ to have a lot of that comin’ my way, aren’t I?”

Cassandra nods curtly at him, “Most likely.”

“That’s just…” _fuckin’ dreadful._ “Lovely.” He grinds out.

As they waited for their meals, Cassandra decided to go over the details of their plan to reach Mother Giselle. It wouldn’t be easy considering the fact there was an almost all-out war going on between the rebel mages and Templars. Mother Giselle just so happened to stuck right in the middle of the crossfires, and they’d have to fight mage and Templar alike to reach her. Cullen gave him a few tips on how to battle members of the order and mentioned a horsemaster he should try and make contact with if he could spare the time. Once the food got there, the mood immediately lightened and made way for more casual chatter.

“I appreciate your counsel, Cullen. I’m glad to have you as one of my advisors. The Inquisition would be lackin’ without you.” He gives him a wide smile which only seems to make Cullen hesitate. He turns to Cassandra then and offers her a smaller, more grateful smile. “And you, Cassandra. Havin’ a Seeker beside me is a privilege. I’m also glad you aren’t shacklin’ me any longer.” He adds with a grin.

“Your skin is marked.” Cassandra points out.

Dederick glances down at his forearms where both lines and solid shapes crawl up the skin hidden under linen and smirks at the seeker. “Oh, those? Aye. Got them when I was younger, but that’s a story a night where there are drinks.”

Cassandra makes a noise of disgust, but doesn’t hide the faint smile that follows. “Truth be told, you are handling this much better than I had anticipated, Herald. Why is that?” Cassandra asks, sounding genuinely curious.

“Just Dederick, please.” He mutters with a mouth full of food before downing it with a swig from his mug of tea. He wipes his mouth before flashing her a sad smile and thumbing at the chain around his neck until a small, round vial poked out from under his tunic. He dangles it for both of them to see, “This is water from the coast of Alamar.” The water shimmers slightly when he shakes it, “It’s enchanted to never dry out or freeze.” He sighs softly before taking it into his hand and pulling it close to his chest, “I have to believe the Inquisition can change everythin’. If it can’t – If I can’t do anythin’ – then I won’t be able to go back. I have to try, and if that means bein’ the Herald of Andraste, then so be it.”

“Does that mean you consider Alamar your home?” Cassandra takes a sip from her drink, “Are you eager to go back?”

Dederick stares into his mug, watching the small trails of steam trail from it. “I’m… not sure.” He admits. “My whole life feels I’ve been fightin’ for somethin’ I can never have. I don’t even know what it is. A name? Land? Respect?” He pinches the bridge of his nose and breathes before his nerves have him slamming down on the table. He stays like that a few seconds until a hand places itself on his shoulder. He opens his eyes to follow the arm back to Cullen who gives him a sympathetic smile.

“You’re not alone in this. “

Dederick lets his hand drop and sighs. “You’re right. Sorry. We should get going soon, Cassandra.”

Cassandra nods, “I agree.”

“Well, then.” Cullen starts to rise. “I should get back to the recruits. Can’t have the Commander of the Inquisition’s forces absent, can we?”

Dederick laughs and stands up as well, “I’ll make it up to you once we get back. Maybe I’ll help you in trainin’ them, aye?” He stretches his arm and offers his forearm to shake.

Cullen blinks at the gesture but grins nonetheless when he grips his forearm and gives it a firm shake. “I look forward to it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tattoo Dederick has is essentially [this](http://36.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lm4x52lWaY1qd8c44o1_500.jpg), but mirrored on both arms.


	4. Recognition

The memory of fighting Templars haunts him in his sleep.

By the time Cassandra begins to lead them back to Haven, his limbs feel weighed down. The trip wasn’t meant to be so complicated. It was meant to be a simple excursion to find Mother Giselle and speak with her, but with the war going on… so many people were displaced by mages and Templars alike with their endless fighting. They couldn’t just ignore them. There was no sense to the violence – it was everywhere, uncontained. They lashed out at anyone that approached without any questions.

He’d grown up accustomed to harshness, but this… this was harshness of a different kind. It was raw. It was frustration built up over years of abuse or paranoia and each attack was laced with it. When they stumbled onto their first group of Templars, they turned on them like wolves that caught scent of blood. And maybe they did. He’d braced himself for their assault, preparing himself to bring up a barrier when it hit him. He’d never felt anything like it before.

It was his magic being drained.

The impact of it hit him like a punch to the gut and brought a sadistic grin to the Templar approaching him, but Dederick wasn’t defenseless. He bested the man with his staff alone and knocked him down to his back, prodding his neck with the bloodied tip of the bladed end. “Yield.” He’d asked, and the Templar only laughed before spitting blood onto him. “I’ll never yield to an abomination.” Dederick plunged the blade into his throat when he made to swing again. Maybe if it’d been just the one Templar, he wouldn’t be as rattled as he is, but it wasn’t just the one. It never is. There were dozens of them, all thinking the same thing, seeking the blood of mages.

The mages were different. Some were beyond the point of reason, lost to desperation and rage at the crimes of the Templars, but some… some of them lowered their weapons when they flung spells at him and his companions only to have them blocked by a spherical barrier encompassing them. Those few scurried off to find safety and shelter, and he’d let them go. He wouldn’t kill an innocent, not after hearing the tales some of them shared with him before running. The others… The others forced his hand. They’d given him no choice but to cut them down.

Every time he shut his eyes to rest in the dingy tents they’d set up for the night, he’d see them. The snarling faces and panicked eyes would just flash beneath his eyelids and force his eyes open. That wasn’t the worst of it. The worst was remembering the feeling of having his magic cut off, if only for a moment, but time after time, again and again with each encounter. It felt like a limb being cut off, and it made him wonder if that’s what the Tranquil were subjected to. He would stay awake until exhaustion drove him to sleep.

By the second day there, he couldn’t hide the bags forming under his eyes or the way his shoulders sagged. Cassandra had given him a concerned look, but he’d shrugged her off so they could attend to the more pressing matter: Mother Giselle. Once they’d secured an area for the refugees, they’d finally found her. She was a compassionate woman, offering her aid to those who would accept it. When they met, she smiled at him and spoke words that sought to inspire and fill him with hope and faith, but… the words didn’t quite stick. They had an objective though: Val Royeaux.

“You’re thinking too much,” Varric calls out suddenly from beside him, pulling him out of his head.

Dederick blinks and suddenly he’s back on the path behind Cassandra and Solas. “What?” He frowns and glances down at the dwarf he hadn’t noticed sneaking up beside him.

“I can almost see the steam coming out of your ears, stop it. You’re going to burn yourself out.”

Dederick huffs out a little laugh, ignoring the few strands of hair that got loose. “I’ll try.”

That answer doesn’t seem to satisfy Varric. The dwarf makes a face before glancing at the seeker’s back and then at him. He makes a gesture for him to slow down. Once he’s satisfied there’s enough distance, he peers up at him, “Now that Cassandra’s out of earshot, are you holding up all right?”

“I’m… ugh.” Dederick grunts, unable to find the right words, but apparently that was answer enough.

“Yeah… I know how you feel. You think that was bad? You should’ve seen how it was back at Kirkwall. It was…” Varric’s face drops a bit. “Bad.”

Dederick studies the dwarf for a moment before he remembers, “Right. You’re from there. You knew the Champion, right?”

Varric perks up right away, “Who, Hawke? Of course.”

Dederick looks away for a moment, hesitating. “Can I ask you somethin’ about him?”

“If you’re going to ask me where he is, I –“

“That’s not what I meant to ask.” Dederick pinches the bridge of his nose for a second before looking at Varric, “Hawke was an apostate. Did he… How did he feel about the Templars?”

Varric’s brow furrows, “What do you mean?”

“Was he… scared of them?” He finally asks.

“Ah.” Varric seemed to recognize then and there what was bothering him. “Are you kidding me? Hawke was scared shitless of the Templars. I swear, the first time we went to the Gallows, I almost had to hold his hand to keep him from pissing himself.”

Dederick arcs a brow, “You’re jokin’, aye?”

“Maybe a little.” Varric admits before looking ahead, “But Hawke actually was scared shitless of them. His first year in Kirkwall was basically one long game of cat and mouse with them. Once he became the Champion, the Templars backed off, but before then? It was fair game. Then Junior went and joined the Order.”

“What?”

“Yeah. His own brother went and became a Templar. Hawke would never admit it to the kid, but he broke his heart that day.”

“I can only imagine.” Dederick got quiet, thinking about his younger brother or sister running off to join the Templars knowing full well what he was. The idea alone made his chest hurt. Then he remembers something. “Hey, Varric?”

“Yeah?”

“Cassandra said she recruited Commander Cullen at Kirkwall. He was a Templar then…”

“Are you asking if Curly was like _them_?”

“I suppose I am.”

Varric sighs, “It’s… complicated. When shit blew over, he realized just how far-gone Meredith was. Even stood beside Hawke to fight against her.”

“And before that?”

Varric squirms a bit under his gaze, “Like I said, it’s complicated, but Curly’s turned over a new page. Try not to hold it against him.”

Dederick doesn’t say anything but takes a deep breath and eventually nods.

.:|:.

It’s midday by the time they make it back to Haven only to be greeted by a few eager recruits willing to take their packs of supplies from them. Just being free of the pack is enough to liberate some of his stress, but when thinks about the report he’s going to have to fill, his weariness comes back in full force. Varric offers to buy him drinks at the tavern in the evening if he’s up to it. Dederick would never admit it, but he appreciates the small gesture.

He tries stretching out some of the aches in his muscles before spotting the Commander teaching some recruits proper ways to hold their swords and shields. Part of him wants to avoid the Former Knight-Captain, but that would just be childish of him. He rolls his shoulders once before he excuses himself from the others and wanders over to the training field. He can hear the Commander barking out instruction before he even approaches. A few recruits flinched at his comments on their form, drawing out a tired smile from Dederick.

“Commander,” he calls out as he approaches.

Cullen looks over at him and nods at him, “Herald.” He goes back to correcting one frail looking recruit’s posture before eventually striding over to Dederick. “It’s good to see you alive and well.”

Dederick can’t hold back a snort, “I’ve been better.”

A look of concern flashes over Cullen’s face, “Are you all right?” Cullen’s eyes land on his shoulder, where the leather armor is torn and bloodied bandages peek out beneath. “You’re hurt. Why haven’t you treated it?”

“I want it to scar.” Dederick answers plainly.

“What?” Cullen sputters out, confused.

Dederick rolls his eyes before folding his arms across his chest, “I was busy fightin’ this one Templar when an archer landed a shot on me. Tried to put up a barrier, but the bastards cut off my magic.” He pouts at the memory, still fresh in his mind. “I want to remember, so I’m lettin’ it scar.”

Cullen sighs before shaking his head, “Maker, you really are as stubborn as you say you are.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment, Commander.” Dederick grins coyly before letting his arms drop.

Cullen smiles at him before shifting slightly “I distinctly remember you saying you owed me. Are you well enough to help me train this sorry lot?”

If he were to be honest, he’d probably rather just retire to his quarters and crash on the warm furs of the bed they’d granted him, but… this was Cullen asking. “Well, since you’re askin’… alright. I’m a bit rusty.”

After swapping out his staff with a sword and shield, he followed Cullen’s suggestion of tackling the greener recruits first. It only took a short while before his muscle memory kicked in and he remembered the old forms his father had taught him when he was younger. Eventually he graduated to sparring with Cullen to show the recruits how it’s done. He took the opportunity to ask Cullen about the Templar order while they blocked and parried each other. He wanted to understand. He wanted to get to know the Commander better, as well. He asks about the vows that Templars have to take, earning a long-winded response from Cullen.

He pauses and draws back from Cullen, bringing a gloved hand up to wipe the sweat off his brow, “A life of service and sacrifice, then. Tell me,” A wicked grin makes its way to his lips, “Are Templars also expected to give up… physical temptations?”

Cullen nearly blanches at the question, “Physical? Why…” He clears his throat, dropping his form, “Why would you…”

Dederick takes advantage of Cullen’s sputtering and whirls around him in one swift motion. He’s got his blade under the Commander’s chin before he gets a chance to react, “I win.” At Cullen’s nearly offended look, he takes a step back and grins at him, “Raiders don’t fight fair.” He offers as an explanation while bringing his blade down, “But the question still stands, Commander.”

Cullen’s cheeks are starting to redden more than from just exertion, but he lowers his blade as well. “That’s… not expected. Templars can marry – although there are rules around it, and the Order must grant permission. Some may choose to give up… more to prove their devotion, but it’s, um, not required.”

“I see. Have you?” Dederick can’t hide his smirk even if he tried.

“Me?” Cullen repeats, and now even his ears start to redden, “I… um… uh, no. I’ve taken no such vows. Maker’s breath,” He rasps out, exasperated, “Can we speak of something else?”

“As you say, Commander.” Dederick shakes his head lightly before returning the weapons back to the rack and grabbing his staff. “I think I’m done for the day, though. Would you care to join me for drinks at the Singing Maiden later? Varric’s buyin’.”

“Varric?” Cullen makes a face, “According to him, I spend too much time with a serious expression on my face, and it’s bad for my health.”

“Best let me help alleviate that then.”


	5. Cooperation

Maker… how much did he have to drink last night?

Dederick groans loudly, instantly regretting it as he digs is face into the warm furs and sheets beneath him. He blinks when it occurs to him that he doesn’t even remember how he got back to his cabin… At least, he thinks this is his cabin. He forces an eye open and squints at the ridiculous brightness of the room, but… he recognizes where he is. He can’t help but whine as he forces himself to sit up and own up to his actions.

It was stupid, but it’d worked. Drinking himself silly at least knocked him out good enough to stop any dreams he might’ve had. “Andraste’s knickers…”

He sits there, feet dangling off the side of the bed for a few minutes while he rubs at his temples. It was an old trick he’d learned from when he was younger. A little bit of magic and he could almost make the feeling go away. _Almost._ Once he’s finally feeling better, he opens his eyes wearily before staring at his toes, frowning. Why was he seeing his toes? He doesn’t remember taking off his boots, much less placing them neatly beside the nightstand.

“Oh.”

The memory comes back him slowly. He’d been practically slumped over the bartop with Varric patting him on the back from his stool. Of the three of them, he was the worst off. Varric could drink like a Qunari, despite his size, he found out. And Cullen… Cullen barely finished one tankard, but he stuck around, listening to Varric spin tales of the Champion and his friends that didn’t quite make it into the published books. When the two of them finally decided that he’d had enough, Cullen wound up being the one to have to lug him back to his chambers. Varric’s voice rung through his head loud and clear: ‘Try not to drop him, Curly.’

Dederick huffs out a laugh, just barely remembering his wobbly steps with his arm slung over the Commander’s shoulders. He does remember the difference. He’d never really cared to acknowledge the difference, but Cullen’s a good few inches taller than him, and his feet kept tripping up from the odd pose, but eventually they’d made it to his door and… Oh, Maker. Dederick feels his face flush. He’d turned to Cullen to say thanks, but being as drunk as he was… He just clapped him on the cheek twice before mumbling ‘Good man.’ and stumbling inside and onto his bed.

The rest doesn’t come back to him, but he can only assume. Maker. He’d gotten drunk off his ass and the Commander of the Inquisition’s forces had to lug the Herald of Andraste back to his chambers and practically tuck him in. That’ll make a fine story. Varric’s probably already got a draft thought up. He sighs softly before peeling off the layers of ale-stained clothes and tossing them in a while. He dresses up to his breeches before grabbing fresh bandages from a drawer and dropping back down onto the bed.

He’s busy redressing his wound when he hears the faint sound of raised voices starting to clamor in the distance. “Goin’ to be a long day.” He murmurs before wrapping up, sliding on a spare shirt, and clambering out the door to find out what’s causing the ruckus. The commotion’s happening outside the Chantry, where mages and Templars gathered on opposite ends, flinging accusations at each other over whose fault it was the Divine passed. It brings a scowl to his face as he approaches.

“Your kind killed the Most Holy!” One Templar lashed out, acting as the voice of those behind him. His eyes were unsettlingly similar to those of the rebel Templars in the Hinterlands. It makes his stomach churn.

“Lies!” One of the mages, a former enchanter, counters, “Your kind let her die.”

“Shut your mouth, mage!”

“Enough of this!” Dederick bellows, before storming up to the Templar reaching for his blade. “Stand down.” He grits out through clenched teeth.

The man looks him over before recognizing him. He sneers, “I don’t take orders from a mage.”

Something inside of him snapped and before he knows it, he’s lobbing a punch right at the Templar’s face. It takes all his restraint to take a step back and allow himself to breathe. “Stand down.” He repeats. The man’s cradling his bleeding nose with a glare directing right at him but says nothing more. Dederick turns to address both groups. “Enough of this!” He barks out, blue eyes harsh, “If there’s anythin’ I won’t stand for, it’s infightin’! We are the Inquisition! Start actin’ like it, and stop actin’ like children!”

Cullen steps forward, “The Herald’s right.”

“But Knight-Captain!” One of the other Templar’s began to say.

“That is not my title.” Cullen’s eyes steel themselves as he looks between both parties. “We are _not_ Templars anymore. We are _all_ part of the Inquisition!”

Just as the tension starts to defuse, a man in Chantry clothes approaches. “And what exactly does that mean, exactly?

Dederick grimaces when he recognizes the man. “Chancellor Roderick.” He states blandly.

Cullen’s lip twitches slightly, “Back already, Chancellor? Haven’t you done enough?”

“I’m curious, Commander,” Chancellor Roderick turns in a show of bravado, addressing the townsfolk gathering around to watch the commotion. Dederick scowls at the guess that he was the one that incited this whole ordeal. Maybe he punched the wrong person. “As to how your Inquisition and its ‘Herald’ will restore order as you’ve promised.”

“Of course you are.” Cullen grinds out before calling out, “Back to your duties, all of you!”

At the Commander’s word, the crowd begins to dissipate slowly but surely. Plenty of Templars were watching him closely after his stunt, but more than a few mages whispered him their thanks and appreciation. Eventually it was just him and Cullen… and Chancellor Roderick who stepped back a distance but still kept watch like a vulture. He flashed the taller man an apologetic smile, “Sorry about that. Rough day?”

Cullen responds with a tense smile before folding his arms over his chest, “You don’t know the half of it. Mages and Templars were already at war. Now they’re blaming each other for the Divine’s death.”

“Which is why we require a _proper_ authority to guide them back to order.” Chancellor Roderick chimes in.

Dederick bites his tongue and lets Cullen answer, “Who, you?” He rolls his eyes, “Random clerics who weren’t important enough to be at the Conclave?”

“The rebel Inquisition and its so-called ‘Herald of Andraste’?” The Chancellor counters, “I think not.”

Dederick sighs before bringing one hand up to rub at his temple, “So far, you’re the only one whose insisted we can’t work together.”

“You punched a Templar!”

“He had it comin’.” He brings a hand up to silence the Chancellor before he gets the chance to speak and turns to address Cullen, “Commander, see if you can find someone to take your post. I need you and the others in the Chantry. We’ll be waitin’.”

Cullen blinks but nods, “On it.”

Dederick pats him on the shoulder before making his way into the Chantry and gathering his advisors in the makeshift war room. While the others chattered among themselves, he took it upon himself to examine the map and the markers placed throughout it. He squints when he spots a marker placed atop Alamar. He’d have to ask about it later. When he tears his eyes away, he notices Leliana watching him with a sly smile on her lips.

“I heard about what happened at the tavern last night.” She starts out, voice as coy as her smile.

“Oh, Maker.” Dederick brings a hand up to cover his eyes. Eventually he pried it away to look at her, feeling a little uneasy. “I ruined somethin’ for us, didn’t I?”

Leliana chuckles softly, “No, no. If anything, I would say your… adventure may have helped us.”

Dederick frowns, confused. “What do you mean?” He’s not entirely sure he wants to know.

“Simple. Some of our followers no longer see you as just the Herald of Andraste, but rather a man of the people; one of them.”

“Oh.” Dederick balks, “I suppose that’s a good thin’, aye?”

Leliana nods, “Yes it is.”

Dederick grins, “Good on me, then. Though I don’t think I’ll be drinkin’ as much next time.”

“Why?” Leliana asks, a knowing gleam in her eyes, “Not many people can say they had the Commander escort them home after drinks.”

 _Oh, Maker._ Almost as if He himself heard his struggle, Cullen barges into the chamber, “Apologies. We can begin now.”

He’s not entirely sure he’s ever felt as relieved as he does when Leliana moves away to situate herself around the table, but the coy look she gives him makes him wish he’d just remained absorbed in the map just a few moments longer. The four of them discuss what they discovered from Mother Giselle before considering their options. They need to try and garner the Chantry’s support in the matter, or at least get them to quiet down. It’s nearly impossible to make allies with them branding them – him – a blaspheming heretic.

“Having the Herald address the clerics is not a bad idea.” Josephine offers.

The face Cullen makes is nearly comical, bringing a smile to Dederick’s face. “You can’t be serious.” He states drily.

“Mother Giselle isn’t wrong,” The ambassador insists, “At the moment, the Chantry’s only strength is that they are united in opinion.

Cullen spares him a glance before bringing a hand up to rub at the back of his neck before circling in frustration.

Leliana seems to share his sentiment, though she keeps her hands tight behind her back, “And we should ignore the danger to the Herald?”

“Let’s ask him.” At Josephine’s words, the three advisors turn their gazes onto him.

Dederick curses under his breath. He’d been hoping the three of them would come to a decision for him. “What can they do? It’s just talk.”

“Don’t underestimate the power of their words.” Leliana says, almost scolding, “An angry mob will do you in just as quickly as a blade.”

Dederick groans. Political affairs were something he never quite had to get involved with during his time growing up. He’d been taught of it, though Alamar’s politics scarcely extended past their own borders, but it was something he’d never actually had to put into practice. He chances a glance up at the Commander, remembering the words he’d said to him a few days back. _‘I suppose I shouldn’t have cozied up to the idea of being safe as an apostate.’_ He’s not prepared for all of this.

“I will go with him.” Cassandra steps forth from beside him as though she sensed his distress. She nods at him before turning to the spymaster, “Mother Giselle said she could provide us names? Use them.”

“But why? This is nothing but a –”

“What choice do we have, Leliana?” Cassandra sighs, “Right now we can’t approach anyone for help with the Breach.” She turns to the commander and ambassador next, “Use what influence we have to call the clerics together. Once they are ready, we will see this through.” Her eyes land on him last, “Come, we must speak with Varric and Solas of this voyage.” At that, everyone at the table took their leave. Dederick spared Cullen a glance, one that he dodged once their eyes locked. He frowns slightly but follows after Cassandra.

“Thank you.” He murmurs.

Cassandra eyes him for a moment, “You do not need to thank me. I know how stifling such matters can be.”

Dederick groans before smirking, “Just accept my damn gratitude, Seeker.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no clue how tall Cullen's meant to be, but if we were to say he's 6'2" (187.96 cm), then Dederick would be 5'10" (177.8 cm) because ~angry shorter boyfriends~.


	6. Lukewarm

“Mornin’, Ambassador.”

Josephine glances up from the letter she was writing. Her lips curve into a smile when she realizes it’s him. “Ah, Lord Elsworth, I’m glad the messenger caught up to you before you departed.” Gently, she places her quill into its stand and clears a space on her desk to rest her hands on. She makes a delicate gesture to beckon him, “Come, sit. I would not have disturbed you if I did not consider this of utmost importance.”

Dederick nods grimly before stepping further into the Ambassador’s office. Truth be told, in all the days he’d been at Haven, he’d yet to actually step foot into Josephine’s corner of the Chantry. Her office is adorned with numerous trinkets and gilded ornaments that contrasted harshly to the rough interior of the building. A gilded touch fit only to match the Ambassador’s tastes, he figures. An attempt to try and feel more… situated.

He rounds the padded chair settled across her desk, one he figures is usually occupied by the more prominent guests the Inquisition has welcomed since it raised its flagged. He feels out of place trying to seat himself comfortably donning his full set of armor. He can’t help but frown when he finally gets comfortable. “I wouldn’t doubt your word, Ambassador. I’m guessin’ somethin’ about me is troublin’ the Inquisition?”

“Yes, and no.” Josephine tries to reassure him with a soft smile before sitting up more proper, “I’d like to discuss your parents.”

“Oh.” Dederick squirms slightly in his seat. This must be why there was a marker over Alamar. “Why are you interested in my parents?"

“As people have noted your station, it would be helpful to call on the resources of your noble kinsmen. What are your thoughts?” A gleam of curiosity sneaks into her eyes, “Should we approach your family for their formal support of the Inquisition?”

Dederick looks away for a moment, pretending to be distracted by the vase of purple lilies on the corner of her desk. Not a single petal was wilting. He sighs before glancing back at the ambassador, “We already have enemies. I’d rather not haul them into this mess.”

“They may be drawn in regardless.”

“I was expectin’ that. I was just hopin’ it wouldn’t happen.” Maker. Alamar had enough problems before the Breach tore the skies open.

Josephine offers him a sympathetic smile, “Val Royeaux has noted your lineage. It should ease your visit to the capital to a degree. It gives the Inquisition some legitimacy, although not as much as we’d hoped.” She adds with a barely contained downturn of her lips.

“I’m not surprised.” Dederick slouches into his seat, “Dare I ask the reason why?”

“You _are_ from Alamar. Orlesian nobles consider that stretch of land somewhat… quaint.”

A harsh laugh manages to escape him, “More like barbaric.” He makes a face when he realizes she hasn’t mentioned his more colorful descriptor. “Wait. You haven’t mentioned my bein’ a mage. Does that not complicate things?”

“You’re not an unfamiliar sight. Mages from noble families are given more leeway.”

“You’re kiddin’.” He gawks at her for a moment before grinning, “And here I was thinkin’ I was just an exception. I admit, that’s a relief to hear, Ambassador. I’d rather not walk around havin’ people scannin’ my back.”

“Do you mean the Templars?” Josephine chuckles softly before Dederick raises a brow at her. “My apologies. I heard what occurred yesterday.”

“Maker, that’s goin’ to follow me around now, isn’t it?” He groans. Bastard had it coming. “But, yes. The Templars outside of Alamar are such… grouches. The ones I knew were warriors through and through. Inspirational lot, they were. Even fancied one of them.”

“No!” Josephine says, intrigued by the scandal. “What came of it?”

“Are you askin’ for details, Lady Ambassador?” Dederick laughs when Josephine doesn’t seem to outright say no. As much as he’d like to indulge her in gossip, he has more pressing matters to attend to… like attempting to get the Chantry to stop branding the Inquisition as heretics. He stands before excusing himself, “Maybe once I return from Val Royeaux, but I’d rather not keep Cassandra waitin’.”

He gives her a small bow before turning to rejoin the others. They had a long trip ahead of them. Hopefully Orlais would be worth the venture.

.:|:.

Only of course it wasn’t so simple. Val Royeaux was a mess.

He’d gone to try and have a peaceful discussion with the Chantry clerics, not be interrupted by the Lord Seeker and his rebel Templars and their show of bravado. His foul temper trailed him all the way back to Haven, where his advisors were eagerly awaiting to discuss the events that happened and who they should seek for aid. He’s not entirely surprised they’d all heard about the ordeal. Leliana has eyes and ears everywhere, he remembers. Josephine was the first to notice his mood, and calmly suggested they give him a moment to breathe and perhaps bathe to ease the stress of the voyage.

Never has he been more grateful for someone intervening. The last thing he wants is to lash out at his advisors.

A servant guided him to the dimly lit chamber housing the copper tub they’d prepared for him, but Dederick frowns when he spots the ornate bottles and vials placed atop a stand just off its edge. He wanders over to them while the servant lights more candles and fetches him a fresh set of clothes. Little pleasantries, he imagines. He’d never really felt any need for them, though his younger sister absolutely adored them. Being the only daughter allowed her that much pampering, at least. He smiles gently at the memory before tentatively uncorking a few of them to sniff at them, and Maker, did some of them reek. A smaller, more menial bottle draws his attention. He’s almost scared to take a whiff, but the gentle scent of lavender and mint was surprisingly pleasant.

“Fragrances and oils, your lordship.” Dederick startles at the voice and nearly drops the delicate flask before turning to spot the servant smiling softly at him. “Gifts from visiting dignitaries. Lady Josephine seems quite fond of them.”

“Right. Thank you.” Dederick scratches at the back of his neck embarrassed, “Could you tell the others I’ll have a decision for them by the time I’m done?”

“Right away, ser.” The servant bowed briefly before turning to leave.

Dederick sighs loudly before stripping off the layers of his armor and piling it all into a neat stack on a nearby bench. Almost gingerly, he slides off his headband and plops it atop the pile before shaking his hair loose and yanking of his remaining clothes (those he was more content to just let drop unceremoniously onto the ground) before easing himself into the warm waters of the tub. He sinks into the water and soaks his head before slicking the wet strands back and allows himself to take a moment to just relax and think.

Orlais was like nothing he’d ever seen before in his life. Never before had he seen so many lavish sculptures and marble and, well… everything. It all seemed excessive to him, but it was not beyond him to be able to appreciate the beauty of the cit. If there’s anything he quickly picked up on was that the city was as masked as the Orlesian people. What the world saw was hardly what went on underneath. The Great Game, he’d heard. Pointless dribble, if you asked him. He sighs softly before pouring some of the mint-lavender fragrance into the water and sinking a little deeper into the tub.

The Chantry was in shambles, but his words in the marketplace seemed to succeed in _at least_ dividing the Chantry’s clerics on their stance regarding the Inquisition… and himself. As much as he sometimes loathes to see himself as the Herald, he had to make face. For the sake of his family, his home, and the mages. If bearing the mantle as Herald would allow him to help their cause, he would do it. He had to. The Templars though… As much as he wanted to believe that they weren’t completely lost, their actions did nothing to prove otherwise. The mages want this, and the Templars want that, but there wasn’t enough time to check up on both. The Breach couldn’t wait any longer.

A few knocks on the door pulls him from his thoughts, but he chooses not to answer and just groans before leaning his head back against the frame of the tub with his eyes shut and resting his arms on the sides. The door creaks open after a few seconds before the sound of armor clinging approaches. “Dederick?” Cullen. “Are you alri- Oh, sweet maker. Why didn’t you answer?”

Dederick lolls his head to the side and grins when he spots a bashful Cullen looking away (though honestly, with the thin layer of bubbles lining the surface of the still water, there really wasn’t much to see even if someone were to try). “Because I’m relaxin’.”

“This is… hardly the most opportune moment to be relaxing.”

“I’d say it is, actually.” He dunks his head in the water one last time before slicking his hair back and glancing at Cullen thoughtfully. “When I was younger, I used to go off swimmin’ whenever I’d get stressed. Seein’ as just about everythin’ around here is frozen, this is the closest I’ve got. Anton – my younger brother - would always join me. ‘Just in case’, he’d say. Alamar’s coast isn’t always the safest.” He explains before sighing, “But you aren’t here for a story. I imagine you’re here for a decision, aye? I’ve decided to meet with the mages.”

“What?” Cullen loses his bashfulness and looks him head on now, “You can’t be serious. You think the mage rebellion is more united than the Order? It could be ten times worse!”

“Cullen.” He rasps out, exasperated “Do you trust me?”

Cullen’s irritation gives way to surprise. “What?”

“Do you trust me?” He repeats.

“I – Yes. Of course”

“Then trust my decision, please.” He’s almost pleading by this point. “I was asked to make a choice, but no matter what, my choice is goin’ to wind up pissin’ someone off. I’m sorry that this time it wound up being you, but what I saw of the Order was not promisin’ at all. I’ll take desperate men over what I saw.”

Cullen opens his mouth as if to counter, but nods instead. Dederick catches his eyes wandering to the tattoos stretching from his shoulders to his forearms before he seems to catch himself. He excuses himself quickly to go inform the others, but something feels tense… unresolved.

“Cullen…” His voice is barely above a whisper. Cullen stops and turns to look at him, “For what it’s worth, I don’t think of you as I do of them. You’re a good man. Though… I think I’ve already told you that.” He laughs quietly and catches the glimpse of a smile on Cullen’s lips.

“As are you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you don't think Dederick nabbed that bottle, you're dead wrong.


	7. Turning Point

“Now hold up a second,” Dederick leans forward in his seat, staring hard at the dwarf seated opposite him. He narrows his eyes in mock offense before making a face, “Did you just call me _‘Bubbles’_?”

Varric chuckles softly before shrugging, “Once you get the nickname, it sticks. Just like Curly here.”

Dederick pouts before letting himself fall back against the wooden chair. It looked like this was starting to become a habit, not that he minded. Breakfast in the early morning with Cullen and Cassandra at the tavern was a bit relaxing, especially as the tavern started to fill with the folks waking up and looking for a warm meal. That’s when the idle chatter starts, and since Varric decided to join in today… “Can I at least ask why?”

“It’s simple, really.” Varric offers before taking a swig from his tankard, “You do that thing with your hand and, boom, there’s a bubble.”

Dederick makes an exasperated noise before taking a bite out of his bread. “It’s a barrier, not a bubble.”

“Fine, fine. It’s a _magic_ bubble.”

“You’re doin’ this on purpose, aren’t you?”

The two of them break into a laugh before focusing on their meals again. The air was light, and for just a few minutes, he felt at ease from all the troubles on his shoulders, especially with the new minstrel that traveled to town. Maribelle, he thinks he remember hearing her name was. Her voice carries softly over the chatter of the few folks in the building, and Maker did it help forget he had to go try and broker an alliance with the mages.

“There is something I have been meaning to ask you, Dederick,” Cassandra speaks up, glancing at him with an uncertain gleam in her eye.

He raises a brow, “Ask ahead.”

“How is it that you learned to control your magic?”

“I’ve been meaning to ask you that myself.” Cullen chimes in curiously.

“Now you’re all just givin’ Varric material for his next book.” He laughs before turning a little more somber at the memories. “It’s nothin’ too special. Bein’ the son of a Bann has its benefits, I suppose. My da took a risk and sought out an apostate to train me. It was that or send me to the Circle, but we don’t abandon family.”

“That was quite the risk.”

“Well, shit.” Varric makes a face, “Hopefully whoever your dad found didn’t try to poison anyone, right?”

Dederick laughs at that, “No, there was no poison or anythin’. He was just a man. Might’ve been a wildlin’ or an Avvar. I’m not too sure, I didn’t really ask too many questions about him, but he had these marks on his skin…” He breaks into a grin before gesturing at his arms, “You can probably guess where I got the inspiration for these.”

Cassandra seems baffled by that, “You marked your skin for that alone?”

“Why not?” His grin doesn’t falter, “The man taught me how to control my magic and a few other bits. I didn’t even get to know his name, so I figure this was one way I could go about honorin’ what he did for me.” He flexes his arms a bit to peek at the tattoos. If his grin could get any wider, it does then. “I think they give me a nice edge, eh?” He glances at Cullen, remembering the way he’d looked at them the day before.

Cullen flushes and almost chokes on his meal, “I – what?”

A giggle from above draws everyone’s eyes. Sitting on the rafters is Sera whose got a mischievous look in her while she tries to smother laugh. “Damn! Guess the jig’s up, innit?” The elf sniggers before twisting around a bit and hanging upside down to gawk at them. “So, this is it, huh?” She folds her arms across her chest before glancing at them as though everything were normal.

The sight alone’s enough to make Dederick huff out a laugh, “Andraste’s ass, Sera.”

“Oh no, it’s fine, yeah? I just thought it’d be bigger.” She snorts before glancing at him, “Hear that? I meant the stronghold, but it sounded like…” She drifts off for a second, “Well, it’s funny, right?”

“Ugh.” Cassandra groans.

“Maker’s breath, Sera! Get down from there.” Cullen nearly barks out, earning himself a nudge from Dederick.

“Aye, aye, commander!” Sera gives him a mock salute before sticking her tongue out, “Alright, but you’re no fun.”

“How long were you up there for?” Dederick asks curiously.

“Long enough to hear all of that.” Sera pulls up a chair beside him and makes a face before leaning in to look at him better, “You sure you’re a mage? Don’t look like any mage I ever heard of. Shouldn’t you be more… mage-y?”

“What?” Dederick smirks at her, “Would it help if I walked around with a pointy hat?”

“I’d pay coin to see that.” Varric tosses in with a laugh.

Cullen runs a hand through his hair, “Maker’s breath, don’t encourage him!”

They all share a laugh and Dederick takes the momentary silence that follows to look at and smile at all the unlike people he’d managed to be able to consider allies, friends, and associates. It’s something he can’t really say he’d ever gotten to experience much of. Family and camaraderie among guards is one thing, but this… this was something completely different. The moment doesn’t last.

“Herald!” A messenger garbed in Inquisition gear barged through the door, “Thank the Maker.”

“Looks like our day’s about to get started.” He flashes an apologetic smile at his companions before turning in his seat to address the man, “What is it?”

“A letter. Sister Nightingale instructed me to deliver it to you at once. It bears your family’s seal, milord.”

“What?” Dederick stands almost immediately and snatches the letter from the messenger, startling the poor man before sending him off. The letter was sealed with the Elsworth signature dark blue wax and stamped with the family crest. He frowns before grabbing the knife from his belt and prying the letter open. He recognizes the writing right away: it’s the scrawl of his younger brother. His face drops the more he reads, drawing concerned looks from the others.

“Dederick?” Cullen’s the one to speak up, “Is everything alright?”

A shaky breath escapes his lips. “No… no it’s not.” He curls his hands into fists, sparing glances between the commander and Cassandra, “Filthy fuckin’ raiders are attackin’ Alamar. They’re takin’ advantage of the fact I’m not there! I should be there protectin’ them!” He barks out before shutting his eyes and breathes for a few seconds before handing the letter to Cullen, “Anton says it’s bad. The raider's are attackin' with numbers unlike anythin' they'd seen before. My da’s too proud to ask for help, and Alamar’s too isolated as it is.” Blue eyes land on Cullen, steeled but also pleading. “Cullen, of all my advisors, I trust you the most to handle this. Without us, Alamar’s goin’ to burn within a week. Can you do somethin'? ”

“I’ll do everything within my power.” Cullen looks him in the eye and gives his shoulder a firm squeeze before nodding and stepping out of the tavern past him.

Dederick stands there at a loss for what to do before turning to the others, “Cassandra, Varric, get your gear ready. We’re headin’ out soon. I need to do somethin’.”

.:|:.

“Do you see that?”

Dederick holds his hand out to signal the others to stop. A rift hovered near the gates of Redcliffe Village, but something about it seems different than all the others they’d encountered. The rift looks to be affecting the area around it. It’s unlike anything he’d seen before. He frowns before crouching down and grabbing a rock before lobbing it at one spot that seemed… odd. The stone slowed down as it passed through the air.

“Well… that’s new.” He muses aloud before scratching at the back of his head.

Cassandra seems just as confused as he is, “We still don’t know just what these rifts are capable of.”

“I take it this isn’t common?” Blackwall chips in from beside him.

The Grey Warden had offered his services to the Inquisition after they found him. There was no way he would turn down the aid of someone from his order, but Leliana wouldn’t be too pleased to hear he knew nothing of the order’s sudden disappearance. He was strong, though, and he seemed an honorable man, so Dederick welcomed him to join them on their voyage to Redcliffe rather than sending him off to Haven.

“Aye.” He takes a few steps toward the rift before the mark on his hand pulses and starts to glow a bright green. The rift starts to stir awake. He flashes the warden a toothy grin before gripping his staff tightly, “But this is. Let’s go! If it looks funny, don’t go steppin’ into it!”

Dederick leads the charge with Blackwall and Cassandra on his tail with Varric covering them from the distance. It doesn’t take them long to clear out the demons, and Maker, if it doesn’t feel good to channel some of his frustration out on them. Fighting at least let him forget about his worries. He doesn’t want to think about it. Alamar’s under siege while he’s off playing negotiator. He nearly roars when he swipes the blade end of his staff strong enough to cleave off the head of the nearest terror demon in one swing.

“I didn’t realize you were a mage.” Blackwall says to him once the rift is sealed.

“I better get used to hearin’ that.” Dederick laughs hoarsely before wiping off the demon blood that had sprayed on his face.

“Probably.” Varric tosses in before holstering Bianca.

Dederick lets out a huff before turning to face the Warden, “I am. I hope that’s not goin’ to be a problem?”

“Not at all.” Blackwall admits genuinely. It surprises Dederick, but he supposes it shouldn’t. Wardens had mages, didn’t they? “I was just surprised. Can’t say I’ve met a mage who charges head-on like that.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Dederick smirks before leading them toward the now open gate.

The situation at Redcliffe was more complicated than any of them had been expecting. They’d come to negotiate with Grand Enchanter Fiona, but now it seemed that she had no knowledge of ever inviting them to parley at all. It just reeked of something twisted, and his suspicions were all but confirmed when they found out a Magister was involved in all of it. Too much was going on at once. Dorian. Alexius. The Venatori and this ‘Elder One’. If that wasn’t enough, they found out time magic was involved.

It all makes his head ache. His advisors bickering when he gets back doesn’t do much to alleviate it, but he’d made a decision. He would not leave the mages to suffer, especially now under the palm of Tevinter. He’d heard tales of Tevinter. Dorian and Felix seemed to be the few exceptions to that, but the idea of a group of cultists so close does nothing to ease his nerves. They don’t need another war.

“We don’t have the manpower to take the castle.” Cullen speaks up, “Either we find another way in or give up this nonsense and go and get the Templars.”

“No.” Dederick glances up from the map, “I gave my word, and I intend to stick to it.”

Cassandra nods from beside him, “Redcliffe is in the hands of a magister. This cannot be allowed to stand.”

“The letter from Alexius asked for the Herald of Andraste by name.” Josephine spares him a concerned glance, “It’s an obvious trap.”

Dederick folds his arms across his chest, “That’s awfully kind of him. What’s he sayin’ about me?”

“He’s so complimentary that we are certain he wants to kill you.” Leliana chimes in. That gets a laugh out of him.

“Not this again.” Josephine counters.

“Alright.” Dederick leans forward and rests his palms flat against the table. He squints at the marker placed above Redcliffe before glancing between Cullen and Leliana, “What are our options?”

“Redcliffe Castle is one of the most defensible. It has repelled thousands of assaults.” Cullen tries to draw his gaze, “If you go in there, you’ll die, and we’ll lose the only means we have of closing these rifts. I won’t allow it.” Dederick’s stomach does a flip when he sees concern flash in the commander’s eyes. Just as fast, it’s gone.

“And if we don’t even try to meet Alexius, we lose the mages and leave a hostile foreign power on our doorstep.” Leliana counters.

Dederick nods, “That idea doesn’t sit well with me.”

“Even if we could assault the keep, it would be for naught.” Josephine looks at him before making a gesture with her quill, “An ‘Orlesian’ Inquisition’s army marching into Ferelden would provoke a war. Our hands are tied.”

“The magister –” Cassandra starts.

“Has outplayed us.” Cullen finishes.

Dederick slams his fist on the table before he can stop himself, “I refuse to believe that. I will not stand by unable to do anythin’ for them just like I can’t for my own family. There must be another way into the castle. A servant’s passage or somethin’. Anythin’?” He looks at Leliana, hoping to hear something good.

“Wait.” Her eyes flash for a moment as though remembering something, “There is a secret passage into the castle – an escape route for the family. It’s too narrow for our troops, but we could send agents through.”

“That’s good. So we infiltrate the castle?”

“Too risky.” Cullen interjects, “Those agents will be discovered well before they reach the magister.”

“That’s why we need a distraction.” Leliana smiles coyly before looking at Dederick, “Perhaps the envoy Alexius wants so badly?”

Cullen seems to mull it over for a few seconds, “Focus their attention on Elsworth while we take out the Tevinters… It’s risky, but it could work.”

The door flies open behind them where Dorian walks in briskly with a soldier trailing behind him. “Fortunately,” He announces, “You’ll have help.”

Dederick all but snorts, “Quite an entrance, Dorian.”

The tevinter smirks at him, “I do loving making an entrance.” Dorian’s attention wanders to his advisors, “Your spies will never get past Alexius’ magic without my help. So if you’re going after him, I’m coming along.”

Cullens eye’s lock with Dederick’s, “The plan puts you in the most danger. I – _we_ ,” He corrects himself, “can’t in good conscience order you to do this. We can still go after the Templars if you’d rather not play the bait.”

“Your concern has been noted, Commander.” He flashes him a smile, one that’s tentatively returned, but he can’t deny the worry in the commander’s eyes. He clears his throat and turns to the spymaster. “Leliana, pick out your best agents. We ride out at dawn.”


	8. Crimson Shores

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And cue _In Hushed Whispers_.

_“You are a mistake! You should never have existed!”_

_“No!”_

There’s nothing he can do. The rift swallows him whole and then there’s nothing. Nothing but the sickly feel of magic that shouldn’t exist tumbling him through time itself, and none of his attempts to stop it. His own magic lashed out, wild and untamed, and it only seems to agitate the spell at work. The rift splits open and tosses him out violently. His limbs crash against hard, wet stone and he tumbles until he slams head first into the sharp metal edge of a crate. He barely gets the opportunity to cry out in pain before armored boots sloshed through the water.

“Blood of the Elder One!” Dederick feels his blood chill. Venatori. Hadn’t they killed all of them? “Where’d they come from?”

He clambers onto his feet, trying to focus his shaky vision before spotting his staff half-submerged only a few feet away. He stumbles towards it only to collapse onto his knees when a wave of dizziness wracks him. He shakes his head roughly, trying to clear his head and bloody _focus_. One of the goons is raising his sword up to swing at him and he instinctively reaches out, summoning a barrier to encase him. Sword strikes time and time against it before the man cries out when a wave of fire engulfs him. His hand drops at the same speed the Venatori does.

“Sorry.” He mutters to Dorian before crawling to his staff, not caring about how soaked he was quickly becoming. It’s a struggle to get onto his feet, but he manages. “I need a moment.”

“You’re injured. Allow me to –” Dorian reaches out to his face before Dederick swats his hand away.

“I’m fine.” Warm blood trickles down his brow and cheek, but he doesn’t care. Not right now. Not with so many unanswered questions. “We have more pressin’ matters than my injuries. What happened?”

Dorian pouts at him disapprovingly before glancing around at their surroundings, “Displacement? Interesting.” Dederick chances a look around once his head clears up. This was not where they were. More disturbingly… There’s red lyrium everywhere, growing out of the walls and ceiling. It casts a sickly red glow and everything just feels wrong. “It’s probably not what Alexius intended. The rift must have moved us… To what?” Dorian muses aloud. “The closest confluence of arcane energy?”

“This doesn’t make any sense.” Dederick grimaces, “The last thing I remember, we were in the castle hall.”

“Let’s see. If we’re still in the castle, it isn’t…” Dorian’s brows arc up in realization before continuing in a tone surprisingly calm, “Oh! It’s not simply where – it’s when! Alexius used the amulet as a focus – it moved us through time!”

“’Moved us through time’?” Dederick repeats, feeling horrified. He stills himself, though. They couldn’t afford weakness now. “Alright. Then we try and undo this and go back.”

Dorian pulls a face, “I’m not certain it’ll be as easy as snapping our fingers, but yes, I quite agree. Let’s look around, see where the rift took us. Then we figure how to get back… if we can.”

“That’s not helpin’” Dederick scowls before crouching down by one of the corpses and snagging the keys he spotted glimmering in the light. “Let’s get movin’, then.”

“You southern folk are so very delightful,” Dorian quips before turning to let him pass, “I’ll be right behind you.”

The horrors they find are nothing short of monstrous. Old bones and corpses littered almost every corner, almost as much as the red lyrium. In time, he finds his companions, tortured, wounded, and… changed. The red lyrium had affected them and distorted their voices and their bodies. They were dying, and there was nothing he could do. One year. One year was the amount of time they’d been displaced. Maker, he could never forgive himself for allowing this to happen. Only it didn’t.

Blackwall, Cassandra and Dorian followed in his steps as he cut down any Venatori agent they ran across. He couldn’t save Fiona, but he could save Leliana and undo this. All of this. His steps echo through the hall as they explored before the muffled sound of a voice catches his ear. He signals for the others to stop. _“How did Elsworth know of the sacrifice at the Temple? Answer!”_

_“Never!”_

Leliana! Dederick kicks the door open before storming in, anger spurring him into action. The torturer turns in surprise, but by then he’s already lining up a shot and tosses his staff blade-first at the man like a javelin. Bones crunch as the blade plunges into his sternum and the man drops dead, clutching at the blade in vein. He spits on the man’s helm before crouching down to grab his keys.

“You’re alive.” Leliana’s voice is barely that above a whisper, as though she were speaking to a ghost. She looks absolutely wretched – wrong.

He can’t hide his shame as he undoes her shackles. “I’m sorry. I need to fix this.”

“If you came back from the dead, you need to do better than “fix” this. You need to end this.” Her voice has a cutting tone to it, sharp. Pained. “Do you have weapons?”

Dederick nods grimly, unable to find his voice.

“Good.” Leliana strides past him and rummages through a chest, “The magister’s probably in his chambers.”

“What became of Commander Cullen?” The question slips out before he can stop himself. Leliana stiffens for a moment and glances to a corner of the chamber before returning to her scavenging. When his eyes spot what she’d looked at, he freezes. “Oh, Maker.”

Chained in a similar fashion to her was the… former Commander. Red lyrium encased the entire lower half of his body. The rest was cut and battered with smaller fragments of the substance jutting out. His armor was stripped off, and his head hung motionless. He was likely dead. It would be easier to just let himself believe that, but Dederick’s feet moved of their own will, drawing him closer to the gruesome scene. He wants to say something, to reach out and touch the other man, but he can’t. He failed him.

“Leave him.” Leliana barks out loudly, drawing his eyes. She’s slinging a quiver on before, “His mind is broken. There’s nothing you can do.”

He doesn’t move until Dorian drags him away, following behind Leliana and the others, leaving the two of them to lag behind. He grips onto his shoulder tightly, giving him a worried look, “You need to breathe. We can prevent this – all of this.”

Dederick nods, but he doesn’t quite believe it. Even if they make it back, even if they prevent Alexius from succeeding, this was still one possible future. One where he fails. One where, as he finds out once they step out into the courtyard, the Breach spans the entire sky and the veil between the mortal world and the Fade is torn asunder. This was one world where he failed, where the Herald of Andraste failed to protect Thedas. This is his responsibility to prevent.

Killing Alexius does nothing to soothe him. Watching his companions and friends give their lives to buy them time only makes him worse. Seeing the look of final hope in Leliana’s eyes just before a demon claws her throat open tips him over the edge. When he steps out of the rift back in the present, the first thing he does is slam a gauntleted fist into the real Alexius’ face.

“You!” He howls, storming over to him, “You don’t deserve to live!”

“Herald!” Cassandra cries out. She and Blackwall pull him away from the cowering magister, and Dederick all but writhes in their grasp, trying to break free.

Eventually he tires himself out and breathes heavily, letting his head hang in submission. Tentatively, they let go of him. He brings a hand up to his eyes, feeling the tears welling in his eyes now that all his fury fled from him. He rubs his eyes roughly before turning toward Alexius. “Consider yourself fuckin’ lucky I’ve got good company. Put aside your claim to Redcliffe, and we let you live.” He turns to address the agents, “I want him chained.”

Just when he’d thought matters resolved, the doors the hall barge open and a battalion of Fereldan troops march in, only to be followed by none other than the Queen of Ferelden herself. She nods at him and his company before turning stern eyes to the Grand Enchanter, “Grand Enchanter Fiona.”

“Queen Anora!” Fiona approaches her, bowing slightly.

“When I granted your mages sanctuary, I thought it was understood that they would not force my people from their homes.”

“Your majesty,” Fiona wrings her hands together, “Let me assure you, we never intended any of this…”

The queen frowns visibly, “Your intentions ceased to matter when my people were threatened. I am rescinding my offer of sanctuary. You and your followers will leave Ferelden at once.”

“But…” Fiona hesitates, “We have hundreds who need protection! Where will we go?”

“Grand Enchanter,” Dederick approaches and places a hand on her shoulder, “I gave you my word that I would help, and I intend to keep it. The Inquisition‘s willin’ to take in the mages.

Fiona looks relieved, but relief quickly turns to skepticism, “And what are the terms of this arrangement?”

“We would be honored to have you fightin’ as allies of the Inquisition.”

The grand enchanter stifles a gasp, “A generous offer, but will the rest of the Inquisition honor it?”

Dederick offers her an earnest smile, “Oh, I’ll be makin’ sure that they do. The Breach threatens all of Thedas – we can’t afford to be divided now, and we can’t fight it without you. Any chance of success requires your full support. The mages have been sufferin’ long enough.” Solidifying the alliance with the mages is but a flicker of light amidst darkness, but Maker, if he doesn’t need that sliver now.

The journey back is a quiet one, but he can feel the worried looks of his companions on his back the entire time. He’d yet to speak a word of what had transpired, not that he’s sure it’s even necessary considering how much Dorian is speaking of it. It hurt too much, like an open wound not even scabbing yet. His hand wandered up to the crusted blood on his face, reminded of the gash. He should deal with it soon.

Haven is abuzz at the news that the rebel mages would be joining them soon enough. Even from the distance, he can see people squabbling around the Commander. Poor man, he thinks. Never seems to hear the end of people complaining. He manages to worm away from them to approach them once they reach the stables. Cullen looks about ready to start arguing until he sees he’s wounded.

“Again?” Cullen shakes his head before frowning at him.

Dederick lets one of the troops take the reins of his horse before hopping off of it. He tries to offer him a toothy grin, but winces when his cheek stings. “Aye.”

“Maker’s breath. Come here.” He gestures for Dederick to approach, and he does. A gloved hand cups his chin and tilts his head to the side to take a closer look. Cullen snags a rag from one of the passing troops and wipes some of the dried blood away before humming quietly, “It’s not too deep. It’s going to scar, though…” Cullen draws his hand back and Dederick finds himself missing the contact. “I’m inclined to believe that was your goal.”

“You know me so well.” He jokes, or at least tries to, but finds himself watching the commander with growing regret. “I’m glad you’re safe.”

Cullen frowns, “Is something wrong?”

“Yes,” He admits before gesturing for him to follow, “But we’ve got matters to attend to.“


	9. Restless

Arcane texts litter the ground around him as he sits by the warmth of the hearth fire of his cabin. Dorian had lent him a few of his own, but for all he reads, the words fall flat on him, especially once they go into details on incantations and spellcraft. Dederick frowns before dropping a book on primal magic into his lap out of frustration. He’s exhausted, he realizes as he rubs at his eyes. He’d been unable to find sleep after the events of the day before. Instead he chose to busy himself and try and practice his magic. He needed to get stronger, but… magic never comes easily to him. He’d never really known why until recently.

He’s a hedge mage. Solas explained it to him proper when he turned to him out of curiosity and apprehension. His magic is wild and untamed – unpredictable. Dangerous. He would never be able to cast spells in the manner Vivienne or Dorian do, with elegance, poise and precision. He draws from the fade, raw and whirling, bending to his will if he can maintain it. Creation magic comes almost naturally to him, but it’s one of the more difficult schools. Learning new abilities is… difficult as such. He scratches idly at the light peppering of hair on his chest before peering out of the window distractedly.

It’s nearly sundown.

His body aches in recognition and he lurches forward to stare into the flames, mesmerized by the dancing sparks. He doesn’t want to rest, partly because he knows what dreams await him. A small voice at the back of his head tries to soothe and reassure him that no nightmares would plague him tonight, but he shakes it loose. No. If he sleeps, he’ll see nothing but the consequences of him failing. He’ll dream of a future where everyone he knows suffered because of him. It’s as though he can see it in the fire – the faces of those he let down. The flames spur suddenly and turn a ghastly blue-green.

Dederick blinks. “Veilfire. Didn’t think I could do that.” He muses aloud, staring into the eerie glow.

Knocking on his door tears his eyes away from the hearth. He shifts and makes to stand but purses his lips. This would be excuse to practice something new. He closes his eyes for a moment and takes a feep breath before steeling himself and glancing at the door. He stretches a hand out and focuses on the door before a trails of green magic trail around his hand, growing in vibrance. The knob starts to turn before his magic starts to lash out and the door suddenly tears off its hinges and viciously flies towards him. He barely manages to roll away before it crashes against the wall behind him.

“Maker’s breath!” Cullen. He hears a sword being drawn.

Dederick huffs out a little laugh before letting himself fall onto his back over the hide rug. “Well that didn’t go like I was intendin’.” He drags a hand across his face in exasperation before sparing the Commander an embarassed glance, “Sorry. That was, uh… That was me.”

Cullen frowns but tentatively sheathes his blade and gives him a look demanding further elaboration.

A sudden chill hits him, and he’s suddenly very aware there’s a gaping hole where his door used to be and the bitter cold of Haven was starting to seep into his cabin. He groans loudly before sitting up and collecting the books lying about the floor and piling them into a neat stack. “I was readin’ up on magic.” He tries flashing Cullen a toothy grin, “Tried practicin’ a bit too. Now I’ve got no door.” He sighs before hopping up onto his feet and picking up the books before placing them on his desk. “I’m not… I need to get stronger. I won’t let that future come to pass. If that means learnin’ more about magic, then so be it.”

He turns to face Cullen, expecting to find a look of disapproval or something of the sort. The only thing he finds is sympathy. “Be careful. Magic can be dangerous and unpredictable.”

Dederick lets out a laugh, “You’re tellin’ me. I’m the one who’s going to have to bundle himself in blankets until I get this door fixed.”

The cold hits him again and he shivers at the contact against his bare chest. He gives the commander a smile before wandering over to his dresser to find a tunic to put on, “So, Commander,” He peers at Cullen from the side before sliding on a black cotton shirt, “What brings you here?”

Cullen scratches at the back of his neck, “Oh, yes, I…” The commander falls silent and looks away for a moment, “The others and I were growing concerned. No one’s seen or heard from you since yesterday.”

“I’m alright.”

“Only you’re not.” Cullen counters, a hard look on his face. Dederick lets his head hang. He’s right. Of course he’s right. He’s got no doubt in his mind that he probably looks like utter shit, tired and exhausted and just drained both physically and emotionally. “The others are waiting for you in the tavern. I think it’d do you good to join them.”

“If I go,” Dederick chances a glance up to peek at hazel eyes, “Will you be joinin’ us?” He asks, his voice soft.

“I… Of course.”

He smiles but fakes a sigh, “Alright. Give me a minute.” He snags a book from the table and stuffs into a pouch on his belt before sidling into his boots and following the Commander out.

An hour later, with his belly full of warm food and mead, Dederick feels remarkably better. Tired enough to be dragged into the Void, but… good. Sharing a laugh with all his companions and seeing the faces of relief on seeing him enter the lively building sparked something inside of him. He would not let any harm come to these people, to his friends and allies. That much he’s sure of. He’s not too sure when it is that he passes out, or how it is that he got back to his bed, bundled and warm, but he can take a guess.

His dreams are quiet that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter tonight, but I thought I would ruin it if I kept going. Also, ~foreshadowing~.


	10. Ardor

“Come on,” Dederick barks out a laugh, “Now you’re just ticklin’ me!”

He cocks his head to the side, watching the growing faces of frustration on the young apprentice’s practicing their spells in an attempt to break his barrier. The idea had hit him when the first of the rebel mages started to arrive at Haven in numbers – if he’s going to practice magic, he might as well let some others join him. He’d cleared out a spot for them to train it, but as fun as it might be to watch the poor lads and gals working together, it isn’t as much of a challenge as he’d hoped. Won’t learn much if he isn’t pushed to his limit.

“Hold up!” He calls out. Once the spells stop flinging, he brings his hand down and the spherical barrier dissipates. “I can’t tell if you’re all tryin’ or not.” Some of the apprentices shared apprehensive looks and that answers his question for him. Oh, come now. This is meant to be practice. Don’t be worried about hurtin’ me. Pretend I’m Magister Alexius if you have to, but I don’t want you holdin’ back. Got it?”

They’d gathered a bit of an audience since they started, mostly a few curious townsfolk wanting to see what exactly it was that their Herald was up to. Anything for a bit of excitement in these dreary days, he figures. Most soldiers remained sparring, but some took a break to watch from the distance. The Inquisition’s forces had many volunteers, and most were just simple commoners who’d only heard terrifying things of magic. Even Bull and his Chargers were watching.

One mage who’d been keeping his distance from the commotion stepped closer, his red hair drawing Dederick’s eyes, “Do you mind if I join in?”

Dederick flashes him a toothy grin before nodding, “The more the merrier.”

Instinctively, he rolls up the sleeves of his tunic, bracing himself for what he’s hoping to be a challenge. He breathes, in and out slowly. One. Two. Three. Magic swirls around his hands as he stretches them both out in front of him and a barrier encompasses him and Maker if he isn’t glad he put his all into it. The volley of spells bombarding him managed to drive him back a few inches, something that manages to draw a few surprised gasps from the crowd. The mages were starting to get creative, working together to try maximize the impacts of their spells and the strain on his muscles only makes him more determined. _This_ is training.

“That’s more like it!” He yells with a laugh. They keep at it for a while, the mages giving it their all and Dederick being as stubborn as a druffalo and not giving an inch, until his barrier starts to flicker.

“It’s working!” cries out the pretty blonde mage, starting to look a little ragged.

“Keep at it!” calls out another.

Dederick can’t help but smirk. He can feel the impact of their spells better now. They’re more in sync, trying to find the weak spots. Good. He’d bring a hand up to wipe the sweat that’s starting to drip down his hairline, but his barrier would probably give then and there if he did that. Instead, he clamps his eyes shuts and tries to will the front half of barrier stronger and letting the back wane just enough to try and keep the barrier up a little longer… Just a little longer. He just has to hold out long enough for them to run out of mana before he does.

“I’ve got this!” Dederick opens his eyes just in time to see the redheaded mage who’d joined last casting a spell unlike not quite fire, lightning, or frost… It takes him a few seconds to realize he’s molding a fist out of stone.

“You’ve got to be kiddin’ me” is all Dederick manages to mutter before the mass of stone smashes right into his barrier at a speed he couldn’t even brace himself for. His barrier shatters like a glass bauble just as the impact sends him flying backwards a few feet right onto his ass.

“Did you see that? I did that!” The redheaded mage is practically bouncing on his feet, beaming at the other mages. The others just stare at him and then at Dederick as if unsure of how to react.

That was… fun. Dederick blinks a few times before bursting out laughing, tossing himself backwards to lie on the dirt. Maker, if that wasn’t intense. His ass hurts though, and that only makes him laugh a little harder before he finally stops and sits up, tugging off his headband in the process and pinning it under his belt. A soldier was approaching to lend him a hand up, but Dederick waves him off before propping himself up. “That was good!” He dusts himself off before approaching the redhead, “What’s your name?”

The mage beams at him, oozing confidence. “Rion, ser.”

“Well, Rion,” He pats the mage on the shoulder, “I owe Varric some coin now ‘cause of you.” He laughs before pulling his hand back and running it through the wavy locks of his now-loose hair. “I’ve got to admit, I wasn’t expectin’ that spell of yours. If you’ve got more like that up your sleeve, I’m sure we can find somethin’ for you to do rather than just sit on the sidelines.”

Rion perks up, “What, really?”

“Aye, but that’s for another day. Go celebrate. If you wind up at the tavern, tell Flissa I sent you. That should cover you for the night.”

Rion turns to the others and saunters over to them with a bounce in his step that almost makes Dederick roll his eyes, but he’s glad. That’s one potential agent for the Inquisition he just found. He’d need to mark his name down in a report for his advisors to mull over. He shakes his head lightly as he starts making his way to the Varric’s usual haunt in Haven. This is what he gets for making a bet with Varric: a tender ass, and losing a few coins.

Varric’s got a knowing smirk when he reaches him, “So, what’s the verdict?”

“Don’t play coy.” He laughs before pulling out the coins he owes Varric from his pouch and handing them over to the dwarf. “Here.”

“What, no story?”

“Maybe later,” Dederick waves a hand before turning to head toward the Singing Maiden. “Though I’m sure you’ll know more about it than I do by then.”

“Is that a bet?” Varric calls out after him, making a point of clinking the coins he got together.

Dederick’s only response is a huff before he wanders over to the tavern and steps into the familiar warmth of the stead. With the sun not quite setting yet, the place was empty save for Sera and a few other stragglers. Sera waggles her brows at him before going back to… whatever it is that Sera does when she’s on her own. He sidles up to the bar counter where Flissa’s sweeping it off with a rag.

“Flissa,” The poor girl nearly startles at his voice, “Do you think I might be able to order something… off the menu?”

“My lord…” The barmaid flushes and it’s only when he hears Sera’s giggling behind him that he realizes how it might sound.

“Maker – that’s not what I meant! I was referrin’ to food, Flissa. Food.”

“Oh.” Flissa clears hers throats, “I suppose that depends, my lord. What were you looking to get?”

“Candied yams.”

“Candied yams?”

“Candied yams.” Dederick repeats, “I have a cravin’.”

Flissa nods at him without any questions and scurries off to presumably notify the cook. Dederick can’t help but shake his head at the realization that he probably just got his way due to his title. It’s not something he’s usually comfortable with, but he decided to make the exception just this one. He joins Sera at her table and idly chats with her about her friends and organization before the tavern starts to fill. The sun must be setting. A half hour or so later, and he’s stepping out of the tavern with a small basket of the snack in tow.

It takes him a little while longer to make his way to the outside of the Commander’s tent. He’d bumped into Rion and a few of his friends on his way out of the tavern and he got caught up. He clears his throat loudly to announce himself, “Are you decent, Commander?”

“What?” comes the confused response from inside, “Why wouldn’t I be? Come in.”

Dederick pries the flap open and steps inside. Cullen’s leaning over the desk centered near the entrance of the large tent reading through, brows furrowed and his lips pursed in thought. Dederick snorts slightly at the sight, “Well, I figured maybe our dear Commander would be changin’ out of his armor like most normal folk do once the day’s done.”

Cullen rolls his eyes before looking up with a smile, “I heard you put on quite the show today.”

“Really now?” Dederick asks, playing ignorant, “What did you hear?” Cullen’s eyes glint slightly with humor and Dederick makes an embarrassed noise, “On second thought, don’t tell me. I brought you something.”

“Oh?” Cullen’s eyes trail over to the basket he’s got in his hand.

“Aye.” He drops the basket right on top of all the papers and documents on the commander’s desk with a satisfied look on his face. “Candied yams.”

“Candied yams?”

“Makers breath, aye, candied yams.” He pulls the lid off the basket before plopping one of them into his mouth gladly. “Tasty little things.” Cullen’s giving him a look, one that he can’t quite make out. Dederick points at the snack with his chin, “Well, go on then, give them a try.”

“What’s this for?” Cullen asks almost innocently before gingerly picking one up and taking a bite. Dederick can’t help but grin when the commander seems to enjoy the taste.

He shrugs his shoulders. “As thanks, I suppose.”

“Whatever for?”

“Don’t give me that.” Had he been closer, he would’ve smacked the other man’s arm. “You’re tellin’ me you had nothin’ to do with my door being fixed by the time I woke up?” Dederick flashes Cullen a curious look. “I hope you weren’t too rough on the poor sod that got stuck doin’ that.”

“Oh. I – Well…” Cullen sputters out embarrassed. It’s endearingly cute, he realizes.

Dederick shakes his head, amused, “It’s alright, Cullen. Thank you.”

Cullen composes himself and smiles, his cheeks turning a shade crimson. “You’re welcome.”

“Now how about we go for a meal at the tavern with the others? You might enjoy drinkin’ more without your armor though.”

The commander glances down at his armor, pensive for a moment before he starts to pull off his fur mantle. The action catches Dederick off guard – the last thing he’d been expecting was for Cullen to _actually_ listen to him. He tilts his head when he manages to see Cullen’s armor without all the cloth and furs covering it – it looked sturdy and well-made. Cullen’s voice snaps his eyes back up, “Could you help me undo the straps?”

It’s a simple question. Innocent enough. He’d helped the others guards at Alamar countless times getting in and out of their armor, but this is… Well, it’s Cullen. He’s the Commander, and he’s handsome and he… shouldn’t be overthinking it, but the question has a feeling swelling in his chest. Maybe he’s reading too much into it, maybe he’s not, but he smiles anyways, “Of course.” It doesn’t take long to help free Cullen from his armor, but he chooses to respect the man’s privacy and wait outside while he changed into something decent.

Dederick can’t help but stare once Cullen steps out dressed in casual clothing for once. He looks so –

“Is something the matter?” Cullen breaks his line of thoughts, starting to look a little uncomfortable now that he’s out of his armor.

“Nothin’.” Dederick grins at the other man, “Let’s get goin’.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick thank you to those of you leaving comments, kudos, bookmarking, or just reading. ~~you're precious and ily~~


	11. Lodestar, I

They’d set out the next day once the last of the rebel mages finally arrived at Haven. Grand Enchanter Fiona handpicked some of the best mages to accompany his small group back to where the Temple of Sacred Ashes once stood. The Breach stares down at him angrily, only growing larger and larger the closer they get to where it all began. This is it, Dederick realizes. This is the moment that everything’s been leading up to: sealing the Breach for good. If they can manage it…

“You look like shit.” Varric. The dwarf doesn’t even bother calling him by his nickname.

Dederick glances down at him before huffing lightly. His dreams didn’t let him get a good rest last night, even with all he’d drank. “Such a flatterin’ sentiment.”

“I’m serious.” And for once, he actually believes him.

Solas spares him a glance from his position ahead, “You do look quite haggard, Herald.”

“I agree.” Cassandra sidles up beside him, drawing his eyes, “Are you well enough to seal the Breach? It’ll be no easy task.”

Dederick can’t help but smile as he looks between the three of them. They’re worried about him. It gives him a bit of comfort, soothing some of the frayed nerves he feels. “I just haven’t been sleepin’ well. Once we seal the Breach,” He stares at the spiraling tear in the sky. It feels as though it’s glaring at him, daring him to do something he doubts he’ll manage. But he has help this time. “I’ll be alright.” He beams at Cassandra, “Promise.”

“We’re here.” Solas announces before turning and nodding to Cassandra. The two of them work in tandem to order the best and the brightest Fiona had to offer into position. Dederick can’t help but take a moment to skim their faces: some of them were young, some of them looked well past their prime. A shimmer of red catches his eye. Rion. Of course he’s here, giddy and looking eager as ever. Dederick turns to face the rift, steadying himself for what’s to come. Last time… Well, last time he didn’t wake up for three days. The mark on his hand glows brighter the closer he steps.

“Let’s do this.” He mutters before undoing his gauntlet and tossing it to the side.

“Mages!” Cassandra calls out from behind him, rallying the others.

“Focus past the Herald,” Solas begins, and Dederick can’t deny the excitement he’s feeling. “Let his will draw from you.”

The rift comes to life as he nears it, lashing out as though to push him away, but he will not fail. He will not falter. His hand pulses damn near blindingly as he draws from the magic being funneled toward him and Maker if it doesn’t burn! He can’t help but cry out in pain before steeling himself. Even if is hand feels like it’s dipped in scalding water, he brings it up to face the rift and channels all the magic through the mark. Bright green rays of magic lurch out from his hand toward the rift, and he clamps his eyes shut, willing this to work – willing for the rift to just _seal_.

The explosion that follows sends him reeling to the ground, and he’s left breathless from the impact. The air slowly comes back to him and he peers up at the sky, watching the remnants of the rift fly up into the sky. The Breach shimmers once before it calms, leaving nothing but a dark scar in the sky. Dederick brings himself to kneel before laughing.

Cassandra places a hand on his shoulder, “You did it.”

“No,” Dederick manages before clambering onto his feet. He nods at her before facing the mages. He lifts his marked hand up to the skies, glowing like a beacon in the darkness. “ **We** did it!”

The rallying cries of victory echo through the valley.

.:|:.

Haven is abuzz with festivities come sundown. The first thing he’d done when they returned was settle down in his cabin and take a good, long nap because he deserved it, but now that he was out and everyone was quite literally dancing and singing their celebrations in the streets. Even Segritt – the grouchy merchant – was joining in the festivities. It does his heart good to watch everyone finally be free of fear, to be able to just take a moment to just enjoy life, but what’s he doing? He’s just perched on a ledge watching the others be merry. Maybe he should join them…

“I heard the Breach is sealed thanks to you.”

Dederick glances over his shoulder to spot Cullen approaching with a warm smile on his lips. He shrugs at him before turning to watch the others again and rubbing his bandaged hand idly. “Wasn’t just me, you know. I couldn’t have done it without the others. Though, I have to admit,” He laughs slightly before looking up at the commander standing beside him and waving his hand at him. “You weren’t entirely wrong.”

“What happened?”

“Damn mark burned me.” Dederick pouts slightly before grinning, “But at least I didn’t go blowin’ up, eh? The Breach is sealed, Haven is safe, and the people are celebratin’.”

“I’m surprised you aren’t joining them, actually.” Cullen’s got a sly little smirk on his lips that he’d love to wipe off.

Dederick laughs before slowly standing up and dusting himself off. “Why? ‘cause the ‘Herald of Andraste’ is a ‘man of the people’?”

Cullen chuckles, “They’ll be talking about your heroism for some time, I imagine.”

“Don’t remind me.” He groans before playfully hiding his eyes under a hand. “Next they’ll be sayin’ I saved everyone. Though,” He draws his hand back and smiles at Cullen. “I can think of a few people worth protectin’.”

“Of course, your family. We should be receiving a report from the troops I sent to Alamar any day now.”

Dederick rolls his eyes. That flew right past him. “Thank you, Commander, but I was referrin’ to someone a little closer than Alamar.” He flashes Cullen a knowing look and the other man’s eyes widen when he finally realizes what he meant. He looks about ready to sputter something out when Dederick shakes his head and glances fondly at the taller man. It wouldn’t hurt to ask. The future that haunts his dreams can’t come to pass now. “Cullen, I was wonderin’ if –“

Maybe he was a bit too obvious in what he was thinking because Cullen interrupts him eagerly, “Yes?” Cullen’s cheeks start to flush when he seems to notice he didn’t even let him finish his question.

A smile curls Dederick’s lips, slow and confident. “Well, I was hopin’ –“

“Commander!” _Andraste’s ass_. Both of them turn to spot the frantic looking recruit calling out. Dederick’s brows furrow at the sight. That’s not good. The Chantry’s bell starts to ring loudly and the crowds in the streets start to disperse, confused. “We’ve got forces approaching!” What? That can’t be. This was meant to be over – the Breach was sealed!

Dederick growls slightly before trailing after Cullen toward the gate. Already the rest of his companions were slowly starting to arrive. He nods at them briefly before watching the darkening skies warily. It’s never easy to fight in the night. Lots of things can go wrong. Cassandra’s the last to arrive, accompanied by Josephine and Leliana. “Cullen?”

The commander spares them a grim look, “One watchguard reporting. It’s a massive force, the bulk over the mountain.”

“Under what banner?” Josephine asks.

“None.” Cullen replies drily.

“None?”

This makes no sense. Who would attack the Inquisition now? What was there to gain? They’d managed their goal. Unless… Unless there’s more going on than any of them know. Dederick steps closer to the gate, ready to unlock it and see with his own eyes what they face when the large, wooden frame shakes violently. A small voice cries out from the other side, “I can’t come in unless you open!” Dederick’s eyes widen. He runs to the gate and undoes the barricade quickly before yanking the gate open.

He nearly freezes when he spots the armored man standing in front of him. No. That armor… It’s the armor he’d seen in the future. The Venatori. The man takes a few steps toward him before collapsing suddenly. A boy in patchwork clothes stood behind him, bloodied daggers in his hands, his eyes hidden beneath an oversized hat. He looks up at him once he approaches, grip firm on his staff. “I’m Cole.” The boy announces, “I came to warn you. To help.” Cole steps closer, looking a bit shaken, “People are coming to hurt you. You probably already know.”

“What?” Dederick can’t help but blurt out. “What’s goin’ on?”

Cole’s head dips, masking his face in shadows, “The Templars come to kill you.”

“Templars?” Cullen barks out, coming to stand beside him with his sword drawn. Cole takes a hesitant step back, and Dederick stretches a hand out to stop Cullen from hounding the boy. “Is this the Order’s response to our talks with the mages? Attacking blindly?”

“The Red Templars went to the Elder one.” The name sends a chill down Dederick’s spine. Cole looks right at him then. “You know him? He knows you. You took his mages.” Cole turns and points up at the mountains. “There.” Atop one of the nearby cliffs stood two men, though… he’s not too sure one of them is even human. He looks wrong. Just all wrong.

“I know that man.” Cullen murmurs, “But this Elder One…”

“He’s very angry that you took his mages.” Cole says meekly without facing them.

“Cullen,” Dederick says without looking away from the sea of torches approaching from the mountains, “Give me a plan. Anythin’.” They don’t have the forces to take on an army of this size. Most of their troops were celebrating minutes ago, drunk and happy. This can’t be happening.

“Haven is no fortress. If we are to withstand this monster, we must control the battle.” Cullen turns to him then, fully assuming his role as Commander. “Get out there and hit that force. Use everything you can!”

Against a tide of red, he stands bulwark. No. He won’t allow them to fall. Not now, not after everything they’ve managed to accomplish. Not with this Elder One emerging from the shadows. The Inquisition needs him now more than ever. Thedas needs him. Staring out at the massive force encroaching, he knows only one thing: he will not yield. Not until Death takes him. A shiver runs down his spine when he hears a familiar voice in his head, comforting him. He glances up and… he swears he sees a hand reaching out to him. Tentatively, he reaches out for it.

A flash of light blinds him when he makes contact. Images and sensations flood his mind and he loses his balance, toppling into the Commander while he momentarily seizes from the surge of something not quite himself.

“You!” Cullen cries out, “What did you do to him?”

“I – I didn’t do anything!” He hears Cole gasp as though seeing something the others couldn’t, “Valor.”

“What?” Cullen demands, one hand pointing his sword at Cole, the other gripping Dederick tight. Dederick stirs, and pushes himself away from Cullen, one hand covering his eyes before pulling it away slowly. Something feels… different. He stares at his hand and flexes his fingers. He feels stronger. Faster. More in control.

Cole steps closer and looks at him, but it almost feels as if he’s looking _through_ him instead, “Valor watches, curious. Testing, reaching beyond. Your strength is Valor’s now.”

Dederick blinks, confused. “What? Do you mean that a spirit of Valor is helpin’ me? Or that I… am Valor?”

“Yes?” Cole responds, only confusing him further.

“Herald,” Cullen places a firm hand on his shoulder, drawing his gaze. His eyes are full of concern. “Are you well?”

“I’m alright. I’m better than alright. We can worry about this later. We have more pressin’ matters at hand.”

Cullen nods at him once before turning to the troops gathering near the gates, mages and recruits alike. “Mages! You – you have sanction to engage them!” He walks in front of them, looking them each in the eyes, “That is Samson. He will not make it easy! Inquisition!” He calls out before turning to face the approaching forces, lifting his sword as a rallying call, “With the Herald! For your lives! For all of us!”

Dederick grips his staff tightly before beckoning over Cassandra, Blackwall, and Varric. Not one person’s going to die on his watch. Not if he can stop it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Achievement Unlocked: Specialized. /snicker/


	12. Lodestar, II

Red Templars. It doesn’t take much to realize there’s something wrong with them. The sight’s ghastly enough, with red lyrium growing out of skin and bone. Worse are the looks some of the men and women have – they seem… content? Is that the right word for it? They don’t seem to mind the beasts they’re becoming. They swing harder than any Templar he’d fought, move faster, and hit harder, but so does he.

Securing the first trebuchet was an easy enough task. Cassandra and Varric covered one side while he and Blackwall manned the other, buying enough time for the troops to finish arming it. A voice rings loudly in his head telling him to move, to move _now_ , and he does, just barely dodging a sharpened shard of red lyrium headed right toward him. Maker. He feels… hypersensitive to the battle – stronger, faster, better able to predict his enemy’s moves. He wipes his brow after striking down the last Templar. Is this Valor’s strength?

“Centered and clear!” One of the soldier’s manning the trebuchet calls out before letting the round loose, “Firing!” The projectile cuts through the air, crashing right into the mass of torches gathering in the distance. It’s not enough, though. They’ll be swarmed before they make a dent at this rate. “They felt that! We’ll reload – you get to the other trebuchet! It isn’t firing!”

Dederick nods at the soldiers, “I don’t want any of you playin’ hero!” He barks out before waving his companions ahead, “If more come, fall back and join the Commander!”

The second trebuchet is overrun. They arrive just in time to watch the last living soldier get cut down trying to arm the weapon. Their eyes meet just before the blade sunk in, and he saw… hope? Hope that got drowned out in pain and then nothingness. It makes his blood boil, and magic not quite his own starts to swell around him like a cloak. No one was meant die – today was meant to be a victory. Not this. Anything but this. He charges like a man set on bringing death and destruction. The others follow suit.

 _Stop._ He can’t.

“You alright?” Varric calls out beside him. “This trick of yours is new!”

Dederick merely grunts in response. _Stop._ Not yet. There’s still a few more. One more drops, and then another. _Stop._ The voice booms once more, but he can’t. There’s just one left standing. He twirls his staff, ready to strike when a sharp pain courses throughout his entire body. He cries out as he drops to his hands and knees, quivering as the cloak of energy ebbs away. He hears his companions call out to him, but their voices are drowned out by another: _Your mortal body is not ready to wield such power._

“Herald!” Cassandra. She drops to his side, checking him for injuries, “Are you wounded?”

“I’m alright.” He grits out before staggering up to standing, still a bit shaken. “Just… overexerted myself.” He shakes his head roughly before peering out at the valley. Just lobbing boulders at the approaching army isn’t enough. They need to drown them out… Of course! “We need to aim the trebuchet at the mountains! Drop an avalanche on them and we might buy Haven enough time to retreat!”

They work quickly to realign the trebuchet with Blackwall doing most of the heavy work. Varric picks off most of the invaders before they manage to get close. Any that do are cut down by Cassandra. Things are going smoothly. A good thing considering there’s an odd sensation under his skin, like pins and needles prodding him all over. It makes it hard to focus on keeping the barrier shielding him and Blackwall up, but he manages. “Done!” The Warden announces gruffly.

Dederick nods and lets his barrier flicker away for the trebuchet to fire. The mountainside comes to life with the impact, shaking loose all the snow that now cascades down to swallow up most of the army. A few soldiers in the back start to cheer and Dederick joins in, patting Blackwall on the shoulder, “Nicely done.” The moment doesn’t last. A shrill noise silences everyone. Out from behind the mountains emerges a high dragon, dark and tainted… and heading right towards them. “Back! Everyone back!” The explosion sends them all reeling. Maker, it’s just one thing after another.

“Shit!” Varric lends him a hand standing up, “Who ordered the end of the damn world"

“I’m startin’ to wonder the same thing.” Dederick rolls his shoulders before helping a few others up onto their feet, “Everyone to the gates!”

They make their way back quickly, stopping only once to help Harritt get inside the building with all his supplies. Maker knows if they survive this, they’ll need him at his best afterwards. Dozens of Inquisition forces crowd through the gate, trying to get to safety. The commander’s already at the gate, ushering everyone in and trying to maintain order. He waves them over once he spots them and shuts the gate. It won’t stop a dragon, but it should hold off some of the Templars.

“We need everyone back to the Chantry! It’s the only building that might hold against… that beast!” Cullen starts to climb the stone steps before pausing and turning to face him, a grim expression marking his features. “At this point… Just make them work for it.”

Dederick can’t stand the look on the other man’s face. “We’re getting’ through this, Commander.” Cullen’s eyes soften at his words before steeling again. He nods at him once before turning to head to the Chantry.

Varric wipes Bianca off with the sleeve of his jacket before lifting her up, “Let’s get people to safety.”

“Agreed.” Cassandra chimes in.

One by one they find people in need of aid. Lysette, Seggritt, Flissa, Adan, Minaeve, Threnn. Not one of them died on his watch. Some were more injured than the others, but they still had their lives. A few Templar stragglers managed to climb over the walls, but it was nothing they couldn’t handle. If Andraste had chosen him to be her herald, where is she? No matter how many people they save, they’re surrounded and backed into a corner. If he dies… No. He refuses to think that – not with so many depending on him.

They lead the remaining survivors to the Chantry. There, Chancellor Roderick clung to bloodied patch on his tunic, barely managing to stand “Move, keep going!” His voice is hoarse. “The Chantry is your shelter!” The doors seal behind them. Dederick yanks off his headband and takes a moment to watch the scene before him. There’s so much chaos. Women and children crying. Healthy tending to the wounded. The people are afraid.

“He tried to stop a Templar.” Cole’s voice drives him to turn around, half wondering where the boy’d even come from. He slings Chancellor Roderick’s arm around his shoulder and helps ease him into a nearby chair. “The blade went deep. He’s going to die.”

“What a charming boy.” The chancellor responds drily before letting himself drop onto the chair, wheezing.

Cullen approaches him, body tense, “Herald. Our position is not good. That dragon stole back any time you might have earned us.”

“I’ve seen an archdemon,” Cole speaks up, crouched beside the Chancellor, “I was in the Fade, but it looked like that.” In the Fade? Archdemons? What exactly are they dealing with… and what exactly is Cole?

“I don’t care what it looks like,” Cullen barks out angrily, and Cole flinches slightly, “It has cut a path for that army. They’ll kill everyone in Haven!”

“The Elder One doesn’t care about the village. He only wants the Herald.” That sends a shiver down his spine.

“Why?” He manages to croak out, “Why does he want me?”

“I don’t know.” Cole tilts his head as if trying to listen in on something, “He’s too loud. It hurts to hear him.” _Compassion._ What? The voice doesn’t answer. “He wants to kill you,” Cole continues, “No one else matters, but he’ll crush them, kill them anyway. I don’t like him.”

“You don’t like –” Cullen grunts and stops himself, choosing to focus on Dederick instead. “Herald, there are no tactics to make this survivable.” He doesn’t believe that. “The only thing that slowed them was the avalanche. We could turn the remaining trebuchets – cause one last slide.”

“We’re overrun.” Dederick grimaces, “Doin’ that means buryin’ Haven.”

“We’re dying, but we can decide how.” There’s something pained in Cullen’s eyes, something old and buried deep. “Many don’t get that choice.”

Cole gasps, drawing their attention, “Yes, that.” He grips the Chancellor’s hand tight, “Chancellor Roderick can help. He wants to say it before he dies.”

Chancellor Roderick tries to sit up, “There is a path. You wouldn’t know it unless you’d made the Summer Pilgrimage. As I have.” The man struggles onto his feet, one hand pressed close to his stomach, but he watches Dederick with hope and remorse, “The people can escape. She must have shown me. _Andraste_ must’ve shown me… so I could tell you.”

Andraste… Is she really on his side? Can they do this? Dederick turns to Cullen, “Will that work, Cullen?”

“Possibly. _If_ he shows us the path.” Cullen steps closer to him, trying to draw his gaze. He looks away. “But… what of your escape?” Dederick doesn’t answer. He can’t. “Perhaps you will surprise it, find a way…” Dederick only looks once he hears his armored boots backing away. “Inquisition!” His voice booms though the building, “Follow Chancellor Roderick through the Chantry! Move!”

Cole sidles up to the Chancellor, offering himself as support for the other man. They start to walk before Roderick places a hand on his shoulder. “Herald… If you are meant for this, if the Inquisition is meant for this, I pray for you.

Dederick smiles sadly and nods, “Pray for us all, Chancellor.”

Cole lets the Chancellor guide him to the back of the Chantry, disappearing behind the gathering crowd. They can all be safe. The same can’t be guaranteed for him. If he survives, Andraste must be watching over him. He runs a gloved hand down his face before spotting the commander approaching a few token soldiers. “They’ll load the trebuchets.” The soldiers nod before jogging past him, “Keep the Elder One’s attention until we’re above the tree line. If we are to have a chance,” Cullen’s voice breaks slightly, “If _you_ are to have a chance, let that thing hear you.”

“Cullen,” Dederick calls out once the other man turns to leave. Cullen stops, and glances at him wearily. He takes a few steps closer, head clouded with a dozen different possibilities, before reaching out to the taller man and cupping the back of his head with his hand. He tugs Cullen down and presses their foreheads together, taking in a shuddery breath. His eyes close for a few seconds, relishing the brief contact, before he opens them to stare into Cullen’s hazel pair. “Don’t die. That’s an order.”

“Likewise.” Cullen manages to get out.

Dederick nods into the gesture before pulling away, a dozen things left unsaid. He takes a few steps back before reaching out, magic swirling around his hands. He swears he can feel a second pair of hands guiding his own as a shimmering barrier emerges from wall to wall. His hands fall limp at his sides, resolute. “So long as I or these walls stand, nothin’s comin’ behind you.” They share one last look before turning to head their separate ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> /coughs/ This was meant to be a two chapter sequence, but uh... looks like it's going to be three. Sorry!


	13. Lodestar, III

“Go!” Dederick barks out without tearing his eyes away from the blighted beast soaring overhead. “It wants me – find the others!”

“Dederick –“

“I said go!” He whirls around, practically snarling at his companions. “Now!”

His eyes lock with Cassandra’s, silently begging her to grab the others by their collars if she has to and drag them away. This is his battle – his obligation. If he can spare them from harm, he’ll do it, gladly. It takes them a few seconds, but the others follow after the seeker, giving him one last glance before leaving him alone. His breath comes out shaky when he finally turns to watch the approaching dragon. Not much longer now.

The beast spews out flames as it flies overhead, and Dederick rolls to the side except… it’s not fire. It’s red lyrium. The red lyrium crackles embedded in the ground, flaring as if it means to explode. There’s not enough time to get a barrier up. The explosion sends him flying and he hits the ground – hard. The impact makes his body ache, leaving him breathless. With a grunt, he pushes himself up onto his feet, willing himself to move. He needs to buy the others time.

The Elder One gazes at him like one would a pest as he steps through the flames flickering nearby. Never in his life has Dederick seen something like him. He can see from it’s face that it was once human, but now it’s something else – something vile. The ground starts to shake under him and Dederick turns to find the dragon – the archdemon? – landing behind him, prowling closer, letting out a shrill cry into the night sky. There’s nowhere for him to run, even if he wanted to.

“Enough!” The Elder One calls out, “Pretender.” The voice sends a chill down his spine. Dederick turns to face the creature, lips turning into a grimace. “You toy with forces beyond your ken. No more.”

“Whatever you are,” He reaches for his staff only to grab at air. Maker. He’d dropped it by the trebuchet. “I’m not afraid.”

The Elder One cocks its head, amused, “Words mortals often hurl at the darkness.” It’s eyes narrow, “Once they were mine. They are always lies. Know me. Know what you have pretended to be. Exalt the Elder One, the will that is Corypheus!” The Elder One stretches out a wretched-looking hand, pointing at him. “You _will_ kneel.”

Dederick lifts his chin up in defiance, bravado barely hiding the fear gripping his heart. “You’ll get nothin’ out of me.”

“You will resist. You will always resist. It matters not.” The Elder One – Corypheus – reaches for an odd-looking orb. “I am here for the Anchor.” The orb starts to pulse, and he feels it. There’s an ancient magic coming from that thing, more powerful than any magic he’s ever felt before. “The process of removing it begins _now._ ” Corypheus reaches out, channeling the magic at him and his hand – Maker, if it doesn’t burn!

“It is your fault, ‘Herald.’” The beast mocks, “You interrupted a ritual years in the planning, and instead of dying, you stole its purpose.” Dederick grits his teeth as Corypheus reaches out stronger. The mark cracks, spreading out like roots digging into soil. Red starts to pulse out of it. “I do not know how you survived, but what marks you as ‘touched,’ what you flail at rifts, I crafted to assault the very heavens.”

“And you used the Anchor to undo my work.” The creatures makes a gesture with its hand and he cries out in pain as he drops to his knees, clutching at his marked hand with his other. “The gall!” He can feel the dragon’s breaths pressing against his back as it looms closer. The bandages fall away and Dederick stares at the violently surging magic pouring out of his hand, red and green.

“Enlighten me then,” He has to fight to keep his eyes open, “What is this thing meant to do?”

“It is meant to bring certainty where there is none. For you, the certainty that I would always come for it.” Dederick bites back a yelp as the creature grabs him by the wrist and lifts him up, dangling him in midair, staring straight into his eyes. “I once breached the Fade in the name of another, to serve the old gods of the empire in person. I found only chaos and corruption. Dead whispers. For a thousand years, I was confused. No more.”

It pulls him closer, and the dragon behind him closes in further. “I have gathered the will to return under no name but my own, to champion withered Tevinter and correct this blighted world. Beg that I succeed, for I have seen the throne of the gods, and _it was empty!_ ” The Elder One flings him like a doll and his back slams hard against wood. This is too much. He can’t… He can’t keep this up. “The Anchor is permanent.” Corypheus hisses, “You have spoilt it with your stumbling. So be it. I will begin again, find another way to give this world the nation - and god – it requires.”

His breathing is ragged. There’s nothing more he can do. The Elder One is too strong – _he_ isn’t strong enough. He can’t face them, not alone. Not yet. His head lolls back, resting against the frame of the trebuchet. Then he sees it – the faintest of things. A flaming arrow piercing high into the skies in the distance, far away. Safe. They made it. Now. He has to act now. The entirety of his body aches, but he grabs his staff lying on the dirt near him and staggers to his feet.

“And you…” The Elder One sneers at him, “I will not suffer even an unknowing rival. You must die.”

Dederick grips his staff tightly, “You march here expectin’ us to surrender and kneel. I’ve got news for you: we won’t.” He runs as quickly as his body allows him and kicks the trebuchet’s lever into motion. The war machine stirs to life, launching its projectile right at the mountain overlooking them. The moment he sees the snow start to fall, he runs. It doesn’t matter where. He just does, but something gives out under him further ahead, and he falls.

.:|:.

He gasps loudly when he comes to, and part of him wishes he could’ve stayed passed out. His head’s throbbing and his hand… his hand is trembling in pain, the mark still burning brightly. His breaths come out shakily, visible in the cold air. Tentatively, he stands up, trying to gather his bearings. Maker, he hurts so much... But he’s alive. It’s dark. The mark on his hand’s providing most of the illumination, and it’s then that he realizes he’s in a cave or a mine. He’s not sure. All he knows is that it hurts to move, but he does. He has to get back to the others – to Cullen.

He wanders in the dark for a while, using his staff like a walking stick, hoping to find a way out. It’s cold. His armor’s not exactly padded or the thickest, and in the dark, battered and bruised, it only feels colder. He follows the remnants of a path inside the cave and eventually spots light pouring in from the outside. His steps are slow, careful of the ice piled up on the surface, but he’s almost out. A voice has him whirling around, fear building in his stomach. His eyes wander back and forth, trying to find the source. “Who’s there?” He calls out.

Better to keep going than wait and find out, he figures. He turns to head towards the entrance, only to come face first with a demon of despair. He staggers backward, feet giving way on ice and he falls onto the ground, staff clattering away. No. No, he can’t have gotten this far just to fall here. He stretches his marked hand out instinctively, and a rift tears open behind the demon, sucking it in. Dederick stares in awe at the rift before reaching out again and sealing it. The mark still aches, but…

“That’s new.” He murmurs.

He struggles onto his feet again, and picks up his staff before making his way to the entrance. The outside air is unforgiving. The wind bites into him and snow pricks at his skin. It’s damn near impossible to see in this weather, but he has to keep moving. He didn’t survive his encounter with the Elder One only to die out here in the cold. He steps out further, boots digging into the snow when he spots an abandoned wagon nearby. It’s a chance, but he chooses to go in the direction it was headed.

Nature’s a cruel thing. For every minute that passes, the cold wears on him more and more. His whole body starts to shiver, but he’s too exhausted to even try and use his magic to try and warm himself up… or at least keep the snow from driving into him. It’s silent save for howling of the wind and the occasional wolf. Valor is quiet, but he can feel the spirit trying to cocoon him, to try and shield him from the weather, but even magic can’t defy nature forever. The snow only starts to get thicker the further he goes, reaching up to his knees.

“I-I can’t…” He breathes out hoarsely, lips starting to turn blue. He digs his staff into the dirt and snow and leans against it. “I c-can’t do this a-alone.” He gathers what’s left of his will for one spell. He swirls his hand in a familiar motion, glowing before the two wisps pop out and start to whirl around him, completely oblivious to the weather. “I-I need your h-help.” The wisps stop bobbing and huddle close to him, “I n-need to find my f-friends. They’re around here s-somewhere.”

Rascal and Shimmer nuzzle against his cheeks for a moment before whirring off, scouting the area for him. He follows them to the remains of a campsite. Maker, is he getting close? He trudges into the clearing and drops down by the burnt out fire. No embers. This could be anyone’s camp, but he doesn’t let himself lose hope. He can’t. Not with his body pleading with him to stop and rest, but resting now only means dying.

Time seems to lose its meaning. He can’t feel his hands or feet. His eyes are locked on the glowing form of the wisps, but… he can’t. He can’t. He sees another campfire ahead, this one with embers still burning, but he can’t. He falls onto his knees, nearly collapsing into the snow, staring blankly ahead. He’s so close but he _can’t do it._ Rascal nudges him, trying to get him to move, but it’s no use. “I-I c-cant.” It’s too cold. “F-find them. B-bring them h-here.” The wisps hover in front of him, unmoving. “ _Please._ ” He all but begs.

The two wisps do nothing for a few seconds before trailing off, and Dederick can’t help but let his head hang. He can feel blackness threatening to consume him, just at the corners of his eyes, trying to draw him in, but… he won’t give in. Not yet. He just has to hold on… Hold on a little longer. He can feel the snow starting to pile on his head and shoulders, motionless in the moonlight. Maybe… Maybe shutting his eyes wouldn’t be such a bad thing…

“There!” Cullen. His voice sounds so far away… “It’s him!”

“Thank the Maker!”

Dederick brings his head up just enough to see Cullen and Cassandra following after the wisps. If he could, he would laugh right then and there, but he can’t even bring himself to stand.

“Maker have mercy.” Someone’s cupping his face, trying to stir him back to his senses. Cullen. Of course it’s him. “Dederick. Can you hear me?

“C-cullen.” He manages to breathe out before letting his head fall limp into the other man’s shoulder, warmed by the fur mantle. It’s comfortable like this.

“Try to stay awake.” He hears Cullen say, “Try to...” He doesn’t hear the rest of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now featuring art in chapter 1! And finally wrapped up this sequence. Goodness.


	14. Inklings

It’s too warm. He stirs to the feeling of being unbearably warm, groaning uncomfortably as fur blankets stick to clammy skin. His head’s slow to process the change… The last thing he remembers is… Corypheus and the blizzard! Where is he? Questions start to rush through his head. The others… Right, he’d found the others. Or they’d found him. He tries to sit, but a heavy hand keeps him pinned in place. His eyes open slowly, taking a few seconds for the shape to take on a more familiar form: Adan.

“Look who’s back from the dead. Again.” The alchemist frowns slightly before wiping Dederick’s forehead with a rag, “I hope you don’t intend this any more of a habit.”

Dederick lets out a miserable sort of laugh, aching all over, “I’ll try not to.” He lets his eyes shut, letting his head fall heavily onto the makeshift pillow. Even if he managed to stand, he’s got a feeling he’d just fall right onto the ground. Uncomfortable as he may be… he needs to rest. “Where are we?”

“Maker-knows-where.”

“What?” Dederick opens his eyes and tilts his head to stare at the alchemist's fleeting figure. He’s mixing something over by a makeshift stand in the tent they’re inside of. “What do you mean?”

Adan shrugs before grinding some herbs with a mortar and pestle, “I don’t think any of us rightly know. We’re somewhere in the mountains, but even here, there’s no shortage of work. That’s for damn sure.”

Dederick furrows his brows together, “We’re safe then.”

“For now, I suppose.” Adan shrugs his shoulders before mixing the ground up herbs into an elixir, sloshing the liquid about until he hums contentedly. “Now we’ve got these bastards and their… _beast_. Best not to think too hard on it. Now,” He presses the vial to Dederick’s lips, “"Drink up. You need to rest."

"But –" Dederick starts to protest, earning him a sharp glare from the older man.

"I swear I'll get that Qunari friend of yours in here to hold you down if I have to. You shouldn't even be awake yet. Maker knows your stubborn ass could use it after the beating you took."

Dederick makes a face before downing the concoction. Better to rest than get Bull involved.

.:|:.

“… have me tell them? This isn’t… asked them to do!”

Faint voices – agitated voices – wake him the second time, coming to him in fragments as he stirs. He grunts as instinct kicks in and he starts to shake his head, trying to will the grogginess away. Whatever’s going on, he needs to do something. Anything. If only willing it so were as easy as doing it. He can barely prop himself up onto one elbow before feeling exhausted. Mother Giselle is seated next to him and offers him a faint, sad smile before his eyes wander to the commotion out past the open flaps.

“We cannot simply ignore this! We must find a way!”

His advisors are huddled near a campfire not too far from the tent he’s inside. Cassandra and Cullen argue and bicker with each other, both looking as though they hadn’t gotten a lick of sleep since… Well, since Haven. “And who put you in charge?” Cullen all but barks out harshly. “We need a consensus, or we have nothing!”

“Please,” Josephine cuts in between the two of them. Seeing the ambassador with her hair undone and disheveled. Is that how bad things are for even her to look the part? “We must use reason! Without the infrastructure of the Inquisition, we’re hobbled!”

“That can’t come from nowhere!”

Leliana takes a step forward, “She didn’t say it could!”

“Enough!” Cassandra yells out, “This is getting us nowhere!”

“Well, we’re agreed on that much.” Cullen huffs about before all of them disperse. Leliana and Josephine settle down on a bench near the fire while Cassandra wanders off to a table with what looked like a map stretched over it. Cullen… Cullen just stands near her, fidgeting and uneasy. Dederick frowns, suddenly feeling weary. An argument like that, out in the open, in a valley where voices and sounds echo throughout… everyone can hear. Everyone did hear.

Mother Giselle’s voice pulls him from his thoughts. Her eyes are warm with concern. “You need rest.”

Dederick sighs, “After hearin’ that… How am I supposed to? How long were they at it?” Mother Giselle clasps her hands together on her lap, dipping her head ever so slightly. “That long?”

“They have that luxury, thanks to you.” Her calming accent soothes his nerves slightly, and he pushes aside the shoots, making to sit but stopping when he realizes his chest is bandaged, freshly changed. All he’s got on is a pair of breeches and thick woolen socks… one of which has bandages peeking out from under them. There’s a dip where one of his toes should be.

Mother Giselle seems to notice him staring. “Our healers did the best they could.”

Dederick blinks before nodding slowly, “It’s alright. “ He offers before reaching toward his chest to grab his pendant, only to find himself scratching at cloth bandages. He freezes for a moment. No. He couldn’t have lost it. There’s no way. Unless… it broke. Then that means it was lost. Maker that was the only thing he had left of –

“Are you looking for this?” Mother Giselle smiles warmly at him before holding out his necklace. The glass bauble glows faintly in the dim lighting. He lets out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding as he takes it into his hands, cradling it for a few seconds before putting it on. “Worry not, child. You are safe. The enemy could not follow, but…” Mother Giselle gazes at the flames crackling outside. “With time to doubt, we turn to blame.”

“Infightin’.”

“Yes.”

“I should be there. At least to try and stop the arguin’.” He shivers as a cold breeze manages to sneak into the tent. Mother Giselle grabs a neatly folded fur coat resting near her feet before handing it to him. Gratefully, he slides into it and wraps it around himself. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, but I’m afraid another heated voice won’t help. Even yours.” She pauses for a moment before continuing, “Perhaps especially yours.”

Mother Giselle explains to him what the others – what the survivors – saw. They saw him die, and he returned to them. Only he didn’t die. He wasn’t brought back by Andraste or the Maker. He just merely survived. Barely. They seem him as a miracle, as proof that the Inquisition and their trials are ordained. He was happy before to accept the burden of being the Herald of Andraste, but after that fight… he feels only shaken to the core.

“I believe,” He admits to her, “But I have doubts. How can Andraste… I don’t…” He makes a frustrated noise, unable to voice his plight. Rather than try, he staggers onto his feet. Thankfully, someone had left his boots nearby and he wedges his feet into them before scampering out into the cold, clutching the cloak closed in front of him. The night is dark, and the tension in the air is so thick, he could probably feel it if he were to reach out. He stops there, wearily watching the tired faces of all his companions and advisors. What can he do?

 _“Shadows fall,_  
And hope has fled.  
Steel your heart,  
The Dawn will come.”

Mother Giselle approaches from behind him, head held solemnly, singing into the silence. Leliana joins her shortly, voice soft in a way he didn’t come to expect from her. Slowly, they stir more and more of the faithful into singing, joining in on the song he doesn’t quite recognize, but all their eyes land on him. Strangers, thankful to him, sing their praises to him. Even Cullen joins in, and the sight of people – men, women, and children – dropping on their knees before him has tears welling in his eyes. For them. Not just his family. Not just Alamar. All of them. He sniffs quietly when the song ends.

“Faith is made stronger by facing doubt. Untested, it is nothing.” Mother Giselle gives him a small smile before leaving to join the other chantry sisters.

He stands there, unsure of what to do as many people give him their thanks, but eventually the crowd disperses into smaller groups. He can’t help but smile as he wipes at his eyes noticing the sudden shift in morale. People were cheering – celebrating. They survived what they shouldn’t have, and they’ve got their lives. Better to celebrate than wallow in what could’ve been and drink to the lost, gone but not forgotten. His eyes land on a cask of ale a few of the refugees has broken open. They don’t complain when he makes his way over to it, grabbing not one but five mugs worth of ale.

Dederick wanders back to the main campfire where his advisors were huddled around once more, tension gone, holding the handles of three mugs on his right hand and two on his left. He’s got a lopsided grin on his face as he approaches them, not particularly caring if he’s spilling ale everywhere. The fact he’s walking around is feat in and of itself. That’s at least worth taking a sip over. Cassandra’s the first to notice him, eyebrows rising up in the way only she can manage.

“You should be resting. Not,” She gestures at all of him, “this.”

Dederick huffs, trying to shake his hair out of the way, “I did enough restin’, thank you. I can get back to it later, but for now drinks for everyone.” He looks sheepishly at Leliana and Josephine, “Sorry. No wine tonight. Just ale.”

“I shouldn’t…” Josephine starts to protest.

“Come now, Josie.” Leliana nudges Josephine slightly before taking a mug from Dederick. “Make an exception.”

“Oh, very well.” Josephine tips her head at him after grabbing a mug. “Thank you.”

Cullen and Cassandra follow shortly after, finally leaving him with a free hand to comb back his hair. It really is getting too long. He’ll have to cut it soon. He flashes them all a smile before lifting up his drink, “Cheers.” He downs almost half of it in one go before pulling it away and wiping at his mouth with the edge of his cloak. The others are watching him, mostly amused. “What?”

Leliana chuckles, “You’re oddly ecstatic, all things considered.”

He shrugs and grins at her, “And why not? We survived.” His eyes wander over to Cullen’s, gaze softening. “That means somethin’, doesn’t it?”

Cullen smiles, some of the tension wound up in his shoulders easing away, “That it does.”


	15. Bated Breath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> /wipes dust off/ Goodness! It’s been a while now, hasn’t it? Sorry about that – I’m an awful person who got caught up in a side story and then got caught up in depression. Not a fun ride, I’ll tell you that. Hopefully, I’ll get back to writing on a steady rhythm if only for the sake of those of you that have been waiting on me to update since… forever ago. /coughs nervously/ A big lovely shout out to the dearest elmroko who has been kind enough to listen to me ramble on and on about almost every idea that’s spawned in my head about Dederick over the last few months. Honestly, if it weren’t for you lending me your ear, I’d probably never have gotten back on track~

Used to be that death tasted like copper on his tongue, red staining his lips and teeth, but now? Now he can say that death tastes like nothing but the cold air he sucks in with each breath. As much as it pains him to admit it… the cold unnerves him now. It’s just a bitter reminder that he almost died, even if he had been willing to. He growls miserably under his breath, wrapping his fur cloak tighter him, trying to stave off the chill. Of course the Maker and his sense of humor would have him trudging through the snow in pursuit of shelter. At least this time around he can feel his toes. Well… those he has left.

“Solas,” He calls ahead, hurrying to catch up to the elf leading them, “There’s somethin’ I’ve been meanin’ to ask you.”

Truth to be told, he can’t get the thought out of his head – the fear. If it was just one thing on his mind, he’d easily be able to push it aside and focus on what needs to be done, but now, in the barren cold of the Frostbacks, he can’t really manage to still his mind. Valor. Valor helped in the battle at Haven. He felt the spirit as though it were standing right behind him, guiding his hands with each swing of his staff and lending him its strength, but…

“Herald.” Solas is watching him intently, his pace slower than it was before. There’s the faintest hint of worry in his eyes and Dederick mentally smacks himself for not hearing the elf the first time he answered him. He nods at him with a grim smile, prompting him to continue, “Is there something troubling you?”

“Hm.” Dederick grunts and looks away. Admitting weakness isn’t something he likes to do, but… he needs to know. “Yes.” He pauses for a moment, fidgeting with the broken bits of his armor, “For the last few weeks, I’ve felt a spirit watchin’ me. Nothin’ malevolent. It's a spirit of Valor, I think, but until Haven I’d only felt it like a presence keepin’ an eye on me. During the battle, I… It didn’t feel like it was just me fightin’. Am I…” His words catch in his throat. _Just_ _say it._ “… Am I an abomination?” It’s question that’s been haunting him since he sobered up. Solas though… Solas simply smiles and that just makes Dederick frown like a kicked pup.

“Do you feel like an abomination?”

Dederick blinks at the question and his frown only intensifies. What kind of a question is that? “No?” He offers, tilting his head to the right.

“Then you are not.” Solas says, as if it were the most obvious observation.

He can’t help the exasperated noise he makes, “If that’s supposed to be some sort of consolation, Solas, it really isn’t!”

The elf places a reassuring hand on his shoulder, “If any spirit were seeking to possess your body, trust that you would not be having this conversation in the first place.” Solas raises his hand to stop him before he can protest, “If a spirit of Valor has deemed you worthy of its aid, you’d be well within your right to consider it an honor. Be wary though: we’ve yet to learn the full extent of your mark. Such a connection to the Fade may have repercussions we may not know about, but…” Solas trails off as they near the top of a hill, “It seems we’ve reached our destination.”

Far in the distance, peeking out through low-rolling clouds emerges the ruins of Skyhold, and Dederick can’t help but guffaw at the sight. Even from this far, he can see the age of the old fortress, but it does nothing to diminish the sheer strength it exudes. How a place such as this became lost to time makes no sense to him, but he’s beaming the remainder of the trek to the stony bridge leading into it. It’s like stepping through history, he figures, trailing his gloves hands along the stone fixtures, feeling the marks and notches of wars from centuries ago. There’s also… something else, something faint, like a hum, calling to his senses.

It’s only when they force open the large weather-worn gate that he realizes what it is. “Magic.” He announces, placing his marked hand on walls and it thrums under leather. Dederick balks in excitement, turning to tell _someone_ about it, but it looks as though everyone’s just as awestruck as he is. “Aw, well.” He huffs a little before patting the wall and joining his advisors as they walk through the courtyards, taking in what they can of Skyhold.

“You know, there are places like this in Alamar. Old and sturdy, but forgotten. My da’ used to tell me to stay away from them. Said there was a reason for them bein’ lost. People love stories, and there were tales that this one fort in specific was ‘aunted. Me bein’ who I am snuck off one night to see if there was any mettle to the stories. Do you know what I found?”

“What?” Josephine was the one ask, though he could tell the others were paying attention.

Dederick grins at her before making a gesture with his hand and out came two familiar wisps, “I found a shimmer and a li’l rascal.”

“Ugh.” The Seeker groans, looking about ready to smack him upside the head. “And here I thought you were going to offer advice on how to make this…” Cassandra gestures to a pile of rubble nearby, “Operational.”

“Sorry.” Dederick offers her a cheeky smile while the wisps chase each other around him. Eventually, one of them pauses behind him and starts to tug at the nape of his hair. He swats it away gingerly before rubbing his thumb in circles over its head, “I know I need to cut my hair.” He beckons Shimmer closer before leaning in towards them like a parent would to a child, “Now how’s about the two of you go take a look around and see if you find anythin’ interestin’, aye? I’m sure there’s bits and bobbled lyin’ about. Some of it may be useful to us.”

Shimmer perks up visibly and starts nudging Rascal before dragging the other wisp away off to go explore the ruins of Skyhold. There isn’t a doubt in his mind that the two will come back later with something in tow. It wouldn’t be the first time. Then again, they might end up getting lost. From what he can tell, Skyhold is rather large… Maker, he hopes he doesn’t have to go crawling in a dungeon later just to find them. Dederick’s frowning, pensive, when he feels eyes on him and turns to find his advisors watching him with amused looks. If it’s possible, his frown deepens, feeling abashed, “What?”

“I wonder if the bards will include this in their songs.” Leliana chuckles under a gloved hand, “You are an adorable man, Dederick. Now, onto business.”

And with that, his advisors form a plan to get all the refugees settled and begin reconstruction efforts but not before Dederick mutters a soft ‘am not’ under his breath. At first, he joined Cullen in situating their troops and craftsman. He had a long talk with a leatherworker they’d picked up at Haven about getting a new set of armor commissioned. It’d take a while, but the lad was eager enough to try and prove his worth to the Inquisition. It was hard not balk at his enthusiasm, if he’s being honest. Afterwards, he helped Cassandra and some volunteers set up tents and clear out debris to make space for a makeshift infirmary. He would have offered Leliana aid, but… well. The spymaster seemed occupied sending her agents off to all corners of Thedas.

Before he knew it, it was dark out, and he found himself on one of the few accessible portions of the ramparts, weary and tired to the bones but unable to force himself to sleep. Instead, here he is, leaning against the cold stone walls, looking down at the flickering torches of the encampments. All of these people see him as some sort of divine figure, and… he’d had no qualms with it, but Corypheus said the mark was the result of a hijacked ritual, not Andraste. It’s as though the mark itches at the memory, and Dederick winces when he remembers the pain he felt when Corypheus tried to remove the ‘anchor’.

Dederick breathes out slowly, trying to calm himself. It already happened and passed. Tentatively, he pulls the glove off his hand, leaving only the bandages wrapped around his hand and forearm covering the mark, but even through the fabric, he can see the glow of magic – of the Fade. Except… it’s wrong. He hadn’t questioned the bandages when he woke up to find them, but now… The mark isn’t the only thing ebbing the telltale green light. His blood runs cold, and he scrambles to undo the bandages, not bothering to register what’s before his eyes until his entire hand is exposed to the cold night air.

His breath hitches when he realizes the mark’s spread. It isn’t even a subtle increase in size. No… there’s only what he can describe as cracks stretching outwards from the mark, leaving harsh lines crawling nearly all the way up to his elbow, glowing just as sickly as the mark itself. Is this why it had hurt so much? He stares in horror at it, feeling something unfamiliar building up in his chest. It’s hideous. The mark itself was grotesque, but this…? This is the kind of arm an abomination would have, and that thought makes him feel like the ramparts are caving in underneath him.

“Dederick?” Dederick freezes at the sound of Cullen’s voice calling out his name not too far away from him. No. Not now. Maker, please, not now. He prays to the Maker that Cullen would search elsewhere for him, but eventually hears the telltale signs of the commander’s armored boots closing in. Dederick squeezes his eyes shut and shifts his cloak to cover his marked arm. “Ah. There you are.” Dederick shifts to face the Commander and the relief he sees on the other man’s face only makes him feel… guilty. “Leliana was worried you might’ve gotten trapped seeking out your wisps.” The blond smiles softly at him but it falters soon after, “Is everything all right?”

“Caught me at a bit of a bad moment, Commander.” Dederick hangs his head for a moment before standing upright and looking Cullen in the eye. There’s confusion written all over his face so Dederick does them both a favor and shoves his cloak aside, letting his marked arm glow freely in the dark. Dederick smiles grimly before staring down at it, “Looks like somethin’ the monster in a folktale’d have, aye? Maybe that’s what I am.”

“You’re not.” Cullen says, clear as day, and before he knows it, the man’s standing in front of him, reaching out and taking ahold of his hand. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, he just… looks at the marks spanning his hand and forearm, and the longer the silence spans, the more Dederick feels like pulling away. “It’s just a scar.”

“…What?”

“It’s just a scar.” Cullen repeats, and to prove his point, runs his fingers along one of the lines on his forearm, as tenderly as if he were touching a painting, and… nothing happened. Cullen didn’t jerk away with burnt fingers or anything. “It may look different, but it’s a scar nonetheless.” A coy smile works its way onto his lips, quirking the scar on the commander’s lip, “Was I imagining the times you’ve purposely gone looking for scars?”

Dederick shoots him an incredulous look, “I don’t go lookin’ for scars. They’re reminders.”

“Then how’s this any different?” That damn smile is still plastered on Cullen’s lips, and Dederick feels himself calm down. Maker damn this man and the things he does to him…

He lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding before muttering faintly. “These glow, for one.” But Cullen’s right. Looking down on his arm now, the marks don’t look as ghastly as they did a few moments ago. He laughs a little miserably before glancing up at Cullen, trying to meet his smile, “Thank you, Cullen.”

“It’s no trouble.” Cullen nods and pulls away. The smile fades away from his lips and a hesitant look takes its place. For a few seconds, Dederick’s almost certain the blond’s going to forgo saying anything, but Cullen steels himself, even if his voice is laced with nervousness. “Back at Haven… you were... going to ask me something. Before the attack.”

Dederick huffs softly, turning to look out at the vista once again. He can feel Cullen’s eyes on him, waiting and expectant. If anyone asked, he wouldn’t deny making him wait a few seconds. Eventually, he glances over at him, feeling nothing but warmth towards the other man, “That I was.”

That response seems to floor Cullen, and for a second he looks about ready to turn tail before he runs his mouth any further. Even in the dark, Dederick can see the red starting to bloom on his cheeks. “Can I ask what it was?”

“So polite.” Dederick teases with a short laugh. “Well, since you asked so nicely… I was goin’ to ask if you were willin’ to spend some time with me without the pryin’ eyes of your troops.”

“Oh.” Is Cullen’s eloquent response, and for a second Dederick’s worried he might’ve misread the other man… “I… I think I’d like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this chapter isn't up to par. I'm rusty like you've got no idea.


End file.
